Something New
by inopinion
Summary: Tris makes a a rash decision spiraling Four out of Chicago like a boomerang. A story that tries to piece everything back together when he finds his way back worse for the wear. Post Allegiant story (with 'minor' plot change).
1. CH1: Clean break

**A/N: Review, Favorite, Follow as you'd like. Thanks for reading.**

Four let the weight of the day wash off of him as he stepped into the facility, past the abandoned guard gate and through to the atrium. He was keenly aware of the sideways glances Zeke threw him as they walked past the empty stations and still equipment into the atrium area without explanation. A few clumps of disoriented people wandered here and there, a good sign that everything went to plan. He was relieved. Then Cara, a bruised face and bandage on her head stood from a bench and with her lips pursed approached.

"What is it?" Four asks, she doesn't meet his eyes setting off alarms in his chest. He quickens his pace towards her, her face so out of place with a job being completed that it had to mean something went wrong. "Where's Tris?"

"I'm sorry, Tobias." She starts softly.

"Sorry about what? Tell us what happened!" Christina demanded, grabbing her arm.

"Tris went into the Weapons Lab instead of Caleb." She looks down, "She survived the death serum, and set off the memory serum, but she... was shot." Her voice begins to falter and Four's heart races. "They don't think she'll make it."

"Where is she?" He demanded, swallowing hard trying to get purchase in his vocal cords. "Where is she?"

"She's in the hospital wing, they're making her as comfortable as they can." She called after him, but he was already sprinting, Christina as fast on her heels as she could manage.

Zeke held his mother as they approached Cara carefully but with their own purpose, "Do you know where my brother, Uriah, is?" He asked. Cara wipes a tear off her face and starts a much slower pace through the compound.

The nurse explained slowly and clearly, holding Four's attention and his body outside of the room. He said she lost too much blood, that she was deprived of oxygen. He said she had swelling in the brain and damage to her liver. He said that there were four wounds to her torso, two that exited out her front, one on the side and one that had yet to be retrieved. She'd lost her spleen and part of her small intestine. He also informed him that her next of kin provided blood and had the sole responsibility and authority to make decisions on her behalf. Caleb sat in the corner of her room eyeing over her charts and cross referencing with a book. He looked up, stunned to see him staring back, and he chewed his lip just like she did.

Four glared at him, his jaw trembling, his fists clenched, but his feet planted like statuary. He couldn't hear the discussion inside the room between Caleb, the nurse, and the doctor, just see the flash of lights on and off, the gesticulation of the nurse explaining the forms, and Caleb's nervous glances back out at him. Nervous because he could kill him, nervous that he would.

"He killed him, you know." Cara offered, arriving to check on him. "He killed David. Then he saved her."

"He wouldn't have had to if he'd done his part." Four seethed.

"She wouldn't let him." Cara put a hand on his arm, he shook it off. The touch too familiar, too warm in his coldness. "She made him stay behind."

"If he cared about her at all, he wouldn't have let her." He stubbornly and irrationally rationalized.

"Do you really think that? Or is it just who she is?" Cara reminded him and he felt guilty for doubting her, again. But she had promised and her presence in the bed was proof she'd broken that promise; in the moment, black and white was all he could manage.

Caleb signed a sheet of paper and Four punched a wall, the crumbling gypsum flaking around his shoes, stalking off to avoid strangling him and circling back after climbing up then back down the stairs. Caleb was sitting outside her door, his face in his hands, his eyes red and swollen, waiting for him. Cara sat near by, a security officer just past her, Four knew why. He stood in front of him, arms crossed, waiting for his verdict.

"I'm going to wait five days." Caleb sighed. "Then re-evaluate." His voice broke. "I just want to see if the swelling goes down, if brain activity resumes."

Four nodded his head. "Just another experiment." He spitefully spat.

"No." Caleb softly mumbled, "I don't have anything left without her. I need to give her a chance to come around, to prove them wrong. She usually does."

"It should be you." Four stepped past him and into the room, taking a seat by her side and pushing her hair out of her face. The tubes breath for her, the IV hydrated her, the blanket warmed her, but his hand was the only thing there that could comfort her. So he placed it inside her limp and cold fingers and rubbed warmth back in willing life itself to transfer.

Caleb stood in the door, just to say one thing. "She wanted me to tell you that she didn't want to leave you." He couldn't jump fast enough to avoid Four's lunging hands that pushed him out of the door way before shutting him out.

That night and the next day was a blur of routines. The nurses came into change catheter bags, IVs, to feed her through a tube in her stomach, clear her airway, change the bandages on her sutures, and to swap linens. Four woke up in the chair by her side, stiff, ate something Cara brought to the hallway, then walked and paced for two hours while Caleb held her hand. Sometimes he just ran until he could taste iron in his mouth and his gums hurt. Then he returned to the rhythmic beeps that kept her alive, studying her. His mind started to play tricks on him, that she wiggled her nose or the blankets moved. But each time he'd focus on what was in the corner of his eye, stillness would shatter his hopes.

Day two and the routine continued, only to be interrupted by Christina coming to pull his attention to another vigil down the hall. They said goodbye to Uriah, his family around him to watch him go. Four and the others stood in the hallway, holding on to each other. Zeke and Hana stayed just a few hours before Amar shuttled them back into the city. Zeke never said goodbye to any of them, never even made eye contact, just rushed out behind Amar to the truck. But Hana lingered, thoughtfulness behind her puffy eyes. She stepped in front of Four, held out her hands to touch his arms, then pulled him into an embrace. "I hope she pulls through." She smiled weakly, and left. Four felt unworthy.

Day four came after an uneventful day three, and the new routine started. Twice a day, electrodes were hooked to her head at Caleb's insistence little waves popped up every so often, but the technician called them noise. It made Four nervous to think they could overlook something, pull the plug and kill her. It became his overwhelming thought and when he did sleep his daydreams floated into nightmares, the source for his restless sleep. The third time on day five, Four stood in the corner while the nurse haphazardly placed the pads on her skull, the smell of her morning coffee permeating the room.

"Do they hurt her?" He asked. He hadn't stayed for the experiments the last time, the room too small for him and Caleb, but Caleb wasn't there yet.

"Oh, these, no. Not really. It might pull her hair when we take them out." She started to place with more precision, like she needed the reminder that Tris was still a human worthy of her attention. It just made him angry.

The technician followed a few minutes behind, a machine on a cart, connecting the cables to each probe and powering on.

"Let's see, Ms. Prior." He spoke to her gently. How Four would prefer for her to be talked to, "Sometimes, they respond to things they hear." He explained as he smiled at Four, not with the pity of the nurses, but with the hope of an optimist, "Do you talk to her?"

"Me, no, not really." He admitted, sitting down to take her hand.

"Why not give it a try." He swiveled the monitor so that he could read it. "Each one of these lines is a probe, this is the normal noise of her central nervous system. What makes her heart beat and stuff. So anything that blips up..."

"What should I say to her?" He asked, the lines jumped and he squeezed her hands, "Like that? They move like that?" and the lines jitters again.

"She must like your voice." The technician played with some knobs, "She doesn't respond nearly as much when I'm talking. Say something else to her."

Four couldn't help but blush, public displays weren't something they'd had time to settle into, but facts had started to become more than just a goal between them. They promised they would never lie. "Tris, today is the last day, today is _the _day to wake up, to move to squeeze my hand, or there may not be a tomorrow." He paused and looked up on the screen to see the pulsing up and down and the technician smiling. "Is that real? Is it real, is she still here?"

"I think so." He nodded, "Maybe she just needed time for the swelling to go down. Keep talking to her, might be what she needs to come back." He started to write up notes, and then exited to file a report of positive signs of significant brain activity.

"You have never scared me more." Four put his lips on her hand and let the relief spread over him, "What have you been waiting for? What are you still waiting for? Just a squeeze of my hand, your right hand, just squeeze." But nothing, no motion.

He tried to think of something to say, but there just wasn't much that didn't make him feel silly or embarrassed. He half started with talking about his childhood, but that only made him angry. Then about some of the things she hadn't been apart of during the last raid, again he felt so angry at her lies. Then he settled into something he'd only thought about thinking about. He talked about a future, a picture with a lot of gaps, but a future with her and their friends and a world where they could be all of who they are.

Day seven, the brain waves had been steady when ever anyone talked now and the swelling was nearly gone. She moved restlessly in her sleep and they made the decision to remove the tube in her throat, to see if she could breath on her own. Christina held Four's hand and gripped his shoulder holding him up and Cara stood next to Caleb who signed the sheet and then held Tris' hand as they separated the tubing and waited for her chest to rise. All of them letting out a sigh with her first breath.

Day eight, while Caleb read to her from a medical journal about physical therapy for head injuries, she opened her eyes and thrashed in a fit, disoriented. A team of people flooded into the room to rapid fire questions at her with "blink twice" or "blink once" and did she know her name. They were able to determine that she seemed unaffected by the memory serum, but Cara pointed out that she wouldn't have put in the code if she'd been wiped, so the whole fiasco seemed unnecessary and over tiring.

Day nine, she kept her eyes open for an hour at a time, but only responded with slow blinks. When Four reached out for her hand, she pulled back and looked away from him. The first time, Christina teased him about his lack of shaving. He immediately corrected his appearance, not wanting anything to confuse her. But again, she pulled away and tears dripped down pooling against her nose. He stood just outside the door, watching as everyone else asked her questions, read to her, or just held her hand through the painful routines.

"She doesn't know who you are, she probably can't see you clearly." Christina offered, but he knew just as well as she that her actions were deliberate.

"I don't care, as long as she keeps making progress." He lied, taking a run around the facility.

Day eleven, she uttered slow and hoarse words, she asked for Caleb. She talked quietly with him for hours. Caleb told the others that she's mainly asked about books they read as children. The name of the characters, the plot points, the progression of the English curriculum. He asked her about Four, did she remember him, pointing at him, did she know who he was? Would she talk to him? She just shook her head and shut down, stopped responding and fell asleep.

Day twelve, she talked with Christina and Cara and avoided his glances from the hallway. She asked if they'll ask him to leave. They reduced her pain medication and she screamed out uncontrollably when they don't overlap it appropriately. He sat five feet outside her door, outside her view and cringed helplessly on the floor as she shrieked.

When she stopped, he settled into the chair next to her bed, she avoided his eyes and fought sleep.

"Tris, I get that you're mad at me, the feeling's mutual." He starts. "You weren't supposed to get hurt. You were supposed to stay alive."

"Leave." She whispered hoarsely.

"It's okay, I'm getting over it, but this silent treatment isn't helping." He reached out to rub her arm, "I mean, you know why I'm pissed with you, but I don't get why your pissed with me. In either case, we can work through this."

"Just leave." She sighed and closed her eyes.

"No." All the confusion was becoming anger and when he's tired, it's hard to hold his temper in check. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell I did so I can fix this."

She glares at him, but can't hold his stare. "Just leave."

Day thirteen. He's barely slept and she still won't see him. He's beginning to formulate his own plan in his head. It's clear to him that she's making a cognizant decision to exclude him from her life. He thought back on everything they've ever said. He thought back on his threat, on her promise. It sat like a pit in his stomach hard and undigestable. But it didn't make sense that she's rejected him when she's the one that broke her promise to stay alive. He felt certain by dinner that he couldn't sit outside her door for the rest of her life. He had to go somewhere where he's couldn't act on his masochistic compulsion to be rejected over and over.

"It's so strange." Christina shook her head, "She won't explain anything to me. To Caleb, to Cara. No one." She rubbe his arm a little, but he couldn't take the affection and pulled back. He rubbed his face, his hands shook as he made his decision.

Day fourteen, he came from a shower and a nap, not enough sleep but he woke with a determination. Instead of going straight to her room, or the hallway outside, he stepped down to the commissary and calmly gathered new clothes or gently used since he couldn't afford much. He crinkled his nose at the blue denim and white shirts that were available. It felt foreign to think about wearing colors. He found a warm knit sweatshirt and a heavy corduroy coat. Lastly, he found a pair of stiff, new black boots with a tough sole and thick socks.

Amar was waiting outside the shop for him to step out, "Quite the shopping spree." He teased, "Heard Tris is coming along."

"Yeah, seems to be." He admitted, not really wanting to talk, but then it occurred to him, "Hey, I hear there's a bus leaving for Milwaukee today."

"Yeah." He looked at him strangely, "Why?"

"I need to be on it. Gotta move on, get out of here, clear my head."

"I didn't realize she was ready to travel." He smiled broadly, only Four wasn't smiling with him.

"Just me." He commented.

"What's going on?"

"She asked me to go." He shrugged, "She's pissed at me for something, must have fucked up big." He swallowed hard, "Anyways, there's no life for me here. So I gotta be on that bus."

"Four-"

"Just, Amar, please. How do I get on that bus?"

He found her room empty, but her eyes open examining her fingers and the IV in her arm. He gathered his courage and stepped into the room. She glared at him, then looked away.

"Hi, Tris." He initiated, loud and clear, so he knew for absolute certainty she knew he was there. She pursed her lips, "I know I make you uncomfortable." A hint of contorted pain crossed her face, "We use to love each other. I get that it's not true for you anymore." His voice cracked and the tears came down his face. "So, I'm going." He shook his head, wiping snot from his nose on his sleeve. "I'll let you be, I'll let you live how ever you want. Just promise me that you'll live a good life." He insisted. "Look at me, and promise."

She raised her eyes, tears on her cheeks, too. She reached out and touched his hand with her fingers, hesitated, then laid her palm fully in contact. And she nodded silently. He wanted to leave his hand warmed by her, touched by her. But swallowed and stood, turned and didn't look back.

Christina was waiting in the hallway, concern written all over her face. "What are you doing?"

"What ever she wants." He smiled a sour smirk and pulled on his coat. "Take care of her, take care of yourself." He hugged her, almost hard and certainly unexpected.

"Where are you going?"

"There's a bus leaving for Milwaukee, where ever that is." He banged his fist on the hallway wall as he walked down. "I'll write you when I get there." He called back.

In threes fast steps, she was in Tris' doorway, "What are you doing? You can't just let him leave like that." Christina begged her.

"It's better if he goes."

"He doesn't want to go. He wants to help you, stay here and take care of you."

"He needs to go." She wiped her face. "It's not good for him here."

"What?" She exclaimed. "He loves you, he really, really loves you. And you're going to let that just walk away? Seriously, you almost died, I don't think you should be making decisions like this."

"I'm not asking you to understand." She stated, then pulled the blankets up.


	2. CH2: Hiding in a New Routine

**A/N: Review, Favorite, Follow as you like. Thanks for reading.**

November - January

The bus took over eighteen hours and a multitude of stops to shuffle fourteen people up the bumpy and ill kept road. Four chose his seat because it was surrounded by empty rows. All he wanted was to sit and be alone, but Rafael, a newly wiped kid about his age seemed incapable of reading social signals and took the seat directly in front of him. He twisted to sit sideways on the bench and found an easy and captive audience in Four.

"I heard that Milwaukee has a colder winter." He jabbered, "But better women. There aren't a lot of women in the Bureau, at least not ones that seemed to like me." He laughed amiably, "Do you have a girl back home? I don't. Can't seem to remember why." At least the constant monologue demanded little of his own participation and he watched the country side turn over out the window. "All I know is that I had this itinerary circled on a calendar, so I hope someone's there to direct us when we get there. Like are we on a list or something?"

"There's a work office we have to find and sign up there." Four confirmed, "They don't have a lot of laborers in Milwaukee." He explained, noting he sounded like he had some authority, but he was merely regurgitating the statements he'd heard in the hallways.

"That's strange, what do you think happened to them? I mean, they have the same chances as we do of having boys and girls, right? So why no boys?"

"Harnessed with a serum and forced to fight to the death." He sneered, unable to keep in his cynical thoughts.

"What?" He looked concerned. "You're kidding? Right?"

"Never mind, I'm sure it's just that they don't have laborers, not that they don't have men." That seemed to calm him, but it didn't shut him up.

When they stepped off the bus, he's unwittingly gained a partner in Rafael. They navigated their way around to the work office that's a few streets away from the bus station. He put in his credentials and helped Rafael fill in his, lies or guesses for most of the fields. The stern middle aged woman behind the desk looked their forms over, the medical papers they were required to begin and grabs Four's arm. It's a shock to his system as she squeezed his muscles and kicks at his legs, some rudimentary test to make sure he was strong. It's all he could do to stay quiet and respectful.

They were assigned to road duty and the physical nature of the labor sounded like therapy. Four had always sought sanctuary in the routines of his life, the predictability of his childhood, his time in Dauntless, even his vigil over Tris. And now he would rose with the sun, walked to the work site - one among hundreds - and starting in the first week, learned equipment to move rock and dirt. But the most rewarding to him was when he had to step out of the metal cage of controls and down on the soil to proceed with shovels. The intensity was low, but the site worked twelve hour shifts, the walk not included, and he liked the feeling of the crisp air foretelling a worsening winter after a long day of movement. He mistook the promise of monotony for healing.

He and Rafael took up residence in what they called the 'work camps' which were wide, open warehouses along a polluted and stinking river. The building they were in was filled with dozens of other men from the fringe and Indianapolis and a couple others from the Bureau or factionless from Chicago. No one that Four knew, or not willing to admit it openly, although one man looked vaguely familiar. It was more like living factionless than Four anticipated.

Everyone was on their own. They had to feed themselves, find bedding, battle the mice and settle their own disputes. While there didn't seem to be a formal structure, there were obviously leaders, men that could seemingly force cooperation out of chaos. It was because of them that the showers worked, trash was cleared, and the collection for heating oil and rent was taken every week.

Waking up in the work camp was disorienting and yet familiar. On more than one occasion, he flashed back to initiation and the rows of kids still sleeping when he woke up early to train Shauna. Falling asleep wasn't as nostalgic. When the lights dimmed and the conversations cut over to the sound of snores, he was still awake, still thinking about her. Panicked thoughts about complications made him dread sleep. When he managed to calm his nerves, closing his eyes and willing himself int to it wasn't enough to staunch the sudden recall of memories. Even what should have been the fondest moment brought a dominating anger through his core that was hard to control. He had the best chances of if he took a few laps around the buildings and a warm shower, something that drew weary eyes and unimpressed comments.

After work, the men would gather at one of the many bars down the street, set up to reap the money off the camps that were scattered throughout the warehouses nearby. Four passed for the first few days, feigning feeling under the weather, but he knew he would have to fit in eventually. He felt like an outsider again, the only one there to escape not profit. It was an all too familiar feeling to when he first settled into Dauntless life, not certain what to do once his goal of initiation had been reached. That was when Zeke forced him out of his shell, forced him into trying to become part of Dauntless.

Rafael made a decent surrogate. At the end of the first week, he pulled him up physically pushing him out the door and down the street. He put the drink in his hand and brought together others from the camp around a single round table.

"What's your name?" Rafael would ask one of the men, the concentrate on his face and make a point to remember. "Where are you from Liam?"

"Oh, I come from the fringe outside of Indianapolis." Four's ears perked up, his few trips into the territory of the genetically damaged made him wary of anyone that came out of it. "Just here to earn some money, try to get family out, just heard about this Chicago experiment, that it's opening up."

"Four's from Chicago." Rafael offered, Four froze as Liam smiled, obviously with questions in mind. He hadn't made this decision yet.

"Oh, what did you do in Chicago?" Liam asked, "You know, before it ended."

"Ended? How'd it end?" Another guy asked before he could answer.

"They had a war, don't you read." Liam hushed him and then turned back to him.

His past wasn't something he necessarily had to hide. Marcus wasn't here, no one knew who Tris was, no one knew about Jeanine Matthews or cared about faction loyalty. But what was a soldier to the GD in Milwaukee, a good thing, a bad?

"I worked in my faction's facility group, you know watching security footage and fixing network issues."

"Computers?"

"Yeah." He realized, looking around, that most of these men probably hadn't seen a computer or at least not outside of what school they attended. "I worked with computers."

"Pretty strong for an egghead." Rafael challenged.

"I like to stay fit." He shrugged, he didn't feel the need to look back too hard when he came here to move forward. "Hey, what's that?" He asked, seeing a group of men jostling and cheering in the corner. Something about the drink in his stomach was bringing out his curiosity.

"Darts." Liam looked at him sideways, "Haven't you ever thrown darts?"

"Is it like throwing knives?" He said before he could stop himself, Liam and a few others looked at him leery, confirming his instincts about the truth.

"Yeah, I guess so." Liam responded.

Rafael slapped him on the shoulder, "I don't think I've ever played, do you want to try?"

He was watch intensely, the sloppy form of the thrower, the tally board, the money pinned to the bottom corner. "Yeah, I could be good at this." He declared, they walked over shoulder to shoulder and put a claim on the next free board and make busy learning the rules and the scoring.

Four bounced a little on the balls of his feet as he waited, too much anticipation to hold in. His unknown competitor put three darts in his hand and he felt the weight and balance. "Can I get a couple practice shots? I've never played before." The men looked around and laughed, some comments about getting his money before he figures it out were made to the thrill of a few of the more inebriated.

He tossed it up and spun it in the air, feeling how it landed and flipped then eyed the line on the ground and tried his best to judge his distance.

"Just throw it." A man called, so he took a breath in pulled his arm back into a familiar stance. "He'll never hit it like that." someone sighed, frustrated and bored. And on the exhale he hit a little out of the middle ring. But that wasn't how he wanted to play the game, he wanted to drop points as quickly as possible and that meant a bulls-eye. So he pulled back and focused, then let it land right where he wanted it. A few whistles and declarations that he was lucky went up.

"Okay, I'm ready, who am I playing?" He asked, excited and collected his darts. He took five dollars off the first challenger with flawless throws.

"Ringer." He hissed, handing his money over in a rough handshake, noses almost touching and squeezing his hands too hard, "Haven't ever played, my ass."

"You calling me a liar?" Four held his hand tight, he'd been in a position of authority since finishing first in stage one of initiation. Call it arrogance, but fools weren't tolerated in the pecking order of Dauntless. "I don't think that's very polite."

He looked him up and down, the tattoos over his shoulders, his unshaven face, the obvious youth behind it. And he must have thought he had the experience. Four saw his shoulder dip back and pushed him off balance before he could swing. He landed on his back on the floor, the five dollars somewhere other than their hands. The man scrambled and jumped up, but the fight was uneven and he was back on the ground as the rest of the groups threw themselves together in fists and bodies. Bouncers, big bodied men with iron grips hauled them out, one by one, eventually using iced towels to shock the men and get the upper hand.

Four rubbed his split lip and bruising eye, panting in the cold with the rest of them. Liam looked at him, at first haggard, but when Four laughed, they all laughed with him.

Four went out with them on the next Friday. And the stories started as each of these colorful men described why they came to Milwaukee: for money, to avoid jail, escaping a bad marriage. And his assumptions of being alone started to unravel. Like him, almost all of them were running away from something.

"What about you, why do you call yourself Four?" Rafael asked.

"Why do they call you Rafael? They just do." He laughed.

"Which faction?" Liam asked, he'd been reading the new paper earlier at lunch, Four had looked over his shoulder at the headlines.

"Does it matter?" He asks, too defensively.

"Just curious. I was reading an article, gave some descriptions." He assured, "You got something to hide?"

He looked down at his drink. "I was a soldier in Dauntless." He admitted. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"Seriously? " Rafael asked, gleefully, "So, you could kill me right now? Ten dollars says I can get you on the floor."

Fighting, being a good fighter, always made him feel proud and distinguished. It was also fun and something he and Zeke did regularly. So he said yes and they stepped outside in the street.

The following afternoon, the warm sun broke the gray dome. And he suddenly wanted to see more of this town. So he gathered a group including Rafael to go explore. The sun was swiftly falling, they were heading out into the streets unknown without so much as a flashlight. But Four pushed them on with a little bravado and an energy channeled directly from Dauntless. He started to run, and they followed. They rounded a corner into the heart of the down town where the street lights were lit and they shuffled close together as they walked past the stores and shops.

A street magician juggled objects and made a few balls disappear, they cheered and laughed. They found a man dubbing himself as "The Strongest Man in the World," holding up a bowling ball by a string attached to his finger and flexing it like mini-curls.

"Four, you can take him." Rafael jeered.

"Naw." He laughed, the performer perking up.

"You sir, you think you're very strong?" He asked, a strange accent clogging the r's into w's. Four would say no, but Zeke would say yes, so he nodded. "How about an arm wrestle, if you win, I will add this to my sign." He holds up the work 'second' on a little tablet. "And I will become the second strongest man in the world." He paused, "If I win, you owe me ten dollars." Ten dollars was two weeks rent.

"If I win, you owe me ten dollars." Four smirked.

"Five. I run a business." He said sternly.

"Okay, five." He put his ten dollar bill on the table and took a seat. Rafael kneaded his shoulders in excitement.

"On three. One, two, three." Another man counted and they engaged. The vendor's palms were sweaty and Fours grip was slipping. The man was strong, very strong. His bicep bulged, but Four held him straight up and down. This, he knew, would be a struggle of endurance. Dauntless-born were bulky, brutish in their strength. Abnegation boys were lean and made for the long haul.

He tensed his core and breathed long and deep breaths feeling the contortion of his challenger all the way to the fingertips digging into his flesh. He closed his eyes and pictured anything that he thought would give him strength. He saw the weight room, the ladders to the catwalks, the ferris wheel ladder, her eyes reflecting the gentle light of the moon. A sudden rage rushed through him and he pinned the hand down to the table with a SMACK and held him there until arms pulled him back.

"It's done, it's done!" They shouted, "Let him up." The man groaned and tossed the five dollar bill back at him as he collected himself. The wave of embarrassment caught him by almost as much surprise as his temper. Four stalked away, trying to get a moment to himself, but Rafael was right there behind him, egging him on.

"Rafael, back off." He snarled, inches away from his face and his fists balled.

"Jeeze, man. Celebrate." He slapped his shoulder and broke the spell. "You owe me a drink." He cajoled and pulled him back down the dark alleys to their usual bars to advertise his capabilities and collect the bets.

Four tried not to make going out a nightly thing. He found running himself to exhaustion to be the better sedative, but Fridays started to exclusively follow that pattern: drinks, stories and then challenges. Four fought his demons with every sparring match or arm wrestle. It was getting harder and harder not to give into the rage he felt. But when he would visualize strength, she always came to mind.

He started to notice a few changes in himself, ones that made him question if the fresh start was really good for him. He hadn't bothered to buy razors and his hair was weeks past due for a haircut, it made him feel sloppy and dirty. He noticed, buttoning his jeans and pulling his belt, he was out of holes. He'd been the same size for over a year and in the years prior he'd had the opposite problem, growing from a shrimp of a kid into an adult. He used a nail from the work site to push in a new hole into the leather and reminded himself that this is what going factionless would have been like.

The routine was set by the end of December. Daily walks out to the worksite, twelve hour shifts Sunday through Friday, eight hours on Saturday. Trips to the laundry mat, the grocery store, the bar after work on Friday for darts and competitions. And every night a run around the building to keep the self-deprecating coping mechanisms at bay and repress the thoughts that brought them to the surface.

As Friday night got late and the prospect of an early morning percolated in the back of their minds, the pack of men dwindled as they one by one took a go at getting a woman and a private bed for the night. He watched, tentative and fixated as they pursued and jockeyed over the prostitutes that worked the sidewalks outside. They'd be bidding and joking and occasionally fighting over price point and duration. More than once, he let the chemicals in his body convince him to walk over, then chickened out. He couldn't bring himself to follow along on this particular sport, but there were others that also stayed behind to chat.

"You should be out there, sewing some oats. Thought that's what you soldiers did." Liam's comment seemed to grant him permission to look, as he watched the long legs and the loose tops barely concealing anything.

"Guess it's not for everyone." He commented, making his decision final and pulling on a coat.

"You into fellows?" Liam asked, quietly. Four blushed and shook his head. "You sure?"

"I am positive." He smirked and somehow felt he needed to back up his claim, "I had a girl back home, just can't imagine replacing her with that." He pointed at a particularly sloppy woman who'd stepped in to get warm. It wasn't completely true, he couldn't replace her, but something about that sloppy woman and the activities he knew she specialized in did interest him.

Liam chuckled, "First love is always the most pure and sweet, but it's hardly ever the one that lasts."

"Apparently." He counted out his portion of the bill. The sloppy woman sauntered up, confused by his hand motion. He couldn't keep the blush out of his face as his hormones begged, 'yes' but his lips declined. Liam looked back at him with concern and he worried that he would have to eventually give in to wipe the pity off of it.

January, a new year, a new level of cold. His perception of making progress towards forgetting her was tilted by a letter from Christina. She'd taken careful note of her life in multiple letters but they'd been delayed due to the iced over roads and they arrived like a chunk of individually wrapped pages in her diary. Cara returned to Chicago and established herself in a lab, working with others on new innovations and supporting the education of the cities' children. Christina stayed to look after Tris, although she never mentioned more than a sentence about her, but the letter dated five weeks into his exile contained a new snippet.

'Tris and Caleb are returning to Chicago, and I'm staying here to work out the longer term logistics between the bureau and the city. I'll miss them both, it's like there's no one from home left.'

While he should have felt empathy for Christina's loss of the familiar, all he could muster was the pity for himself losing the last solid connection to her. The other few letters in the bundle didn't mention Tris at all. One mentioned that Amar and George had gone back, too.

For a few days, he's full of nightmares and horrible anxiety. That he would stop getting letters from Christina, that she'd never mention Tris. That Tris would just disappear and he'd never be able to find her again. That Tris died and that's why she didn't say anything. That Tris was seeing someone else and that felt worse than if she died. This was made all the worse by his inner monologue declaring that that's what she wanted anyways and that she was better without him. His letter back was short, to the point, and focused on the weather. He added his empathetic statements to the end for Christina's plight. It went out in the post and the next day he was rendered unable to function by a sweeping flue jumping bed to bed in the camp. But to him it felt like punishment heaped on months of punishment.

He shivered and shook, his body ached and four of the men close by died in the first three days. The only men that seemed immune were from the Bureau, like Rafael, the ones with the vaccinations. Four was never so thankful to have partnered up with him than when he showed up with broth, medicine, and blankets. Rafael's hand shook as he loaded the syringe and started to lean towards him, obviously scared and uncomfortable with sharps.

Four took it from him. "I can do this." He assured, inserting the needle into his neck.

"You could have gone for the arm."

Four didn't have the energy to shrug, just to mumble as the sting spread out through his circulatory system, "I could hit that vein in my sleep." If Rafael hadn't looked confused, Four would have thought he was a hallucination, but he didn't explain.

As a rule in the camps, If they weren't working, no one was paying them, and it wasn't likely that they were eating much either. And by the time the virus left his system, he was inches past the impromptu hole in his belt and had consumed the fat reserves on his body. His metabolism had cannibalized the proteins from his muscles to survive. The clothes of the dead men were piled in the corner and distributed by the skeletal workers that were left.

"You sure you're OK to work?" Rafael asked. Watching him shiver, "I mean, you can barely tie your own shoes." Dauntless had taught him to keep moving.

The emaciated survivors stomped out to the site tired, weak; but they had to work to get money to pay rent, to buy food, to pay for oil. He took the controls of the backhoe and was thankful to have a job that wasn't as draining. But at a certain point, he ran out of equipment work. He stepped down from the big machine, realizing how cold his feet were and how fast the wind moved outside the box.

He huddled with the other men in a tight circle, waiting for the crane to deposit the pillar into the hole he'd dug. Mid-way through a pillar lift, the chain disengaged and slammed down and rolled into a stack of materials triggering a slide of supplies directly towards a second waiting group. Four heard the bang and his feet moved as only trained boots can move. He put his arms around two men and pushed them forward, running them up the hill pushing others in the path. The barrels bounced down the hill and struck two men. As the movement settled, he reversed. His training in triage coming up to his throat as he shouted orders at the stunned men that watched wide-eyed.

Four sat looking at the crushed body being put on a stretcher and asked himself if he could have saved him, a dozen what if's bouncing around his brain. The other man was long gone on a work truck for medical care. His thoughts were disrupted by the random memory of a head exploding out the back. He shook his head and tapped his temple with the meat of his hand. Were they necessary kills? Could he have shot them through the hands or taken off a finger. His time on the range told him he was capable. The sweep of guilt paralyzed him in thought until Liam put a big hand on his shoulder.

"That was pretty amazing, kid." He pulled him up by his hand, "I can't believe you saved them."

"Missed one."

"Yeah, but we could be down four." He pushed him up and along the road along, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd never seen a dead guy." He teased.

"Yeah, wish I hadn't." he said, too serious for Liam to feel comfortable.

"You going to be okay?"

Four shook his head, the tear sneaked out and down his face and into his growing beard. In his head, he couldn't even put an accurate count into the tally, at least ten, then a more shameful thought: did that make him humble? That he didn't know how many, not for sure?

"This one isn't yours." Liam let him be silent, let him be a zombie while he walked him back to the warehouses. Four didn't feel like being like Zeke anymore, cheerfulness had no place here. He didn't want to be Four anymore, death followed him everywhere. He couldn't be Tobias, because he could only be him with her. He didn't want to wake up anymore, because he never wanted to have to fall asleep and dream about anything again.


	3. CH3: The Pharmacy is open

She held her breath until she'd almost passed out, Christina's shadow had long disappeared down the hall but her lecture on love and being responsible to the people we love was still echoing in her ears. When Tris gulped for air, her whole body rejected it. The searing pain from her center underscored her exhales with stifled squeaks of suffering. She wanted it to stop, she wanted her chest to not implode upon itself, but these sobs that ricocheted up from her belly and out her throat felt compelled on her by something outside of herself. The nurse clamped her hands on her, rubbing her shoulder, her arm, trying to sooth her. She'd been a snotted up mess for over an hour. The nurse glared at her watch, cursing the size of the compound, just when Caleb rushed to the room.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he had obviously been sleeping, still barefooted and disheveled hair, woken by the aid sent to retrieve him.

"She won't calm down." The nurse sighs as she transfers Tris's hand to his, "She's been like this for the last hour. We checked her pain medication, she's maxed out. I don't think it's physical."

"Beatrice." He searches her curled up form and red face for anything, "What's wrong, what happened."

"I should be dead." she croaked and coughed out more sobs. He shook his head involuntarily back and forth, vigorously, "I sh, I sh, I should be dead." She cried out again, burying her face in her pillow.

"Do you have a sedative?" He asked, this mess of a girl beyond his ability to rationalize a more compassionate next step.

"I'll see if there's something I can give."

The nurse left and another person returned with a syringe and a vial for her IV line. She had been gulping for air and repeating her statement over and over, squeezing his hand until it was white. He watched her melt out of contortion into a hazy calm state. And he was thankful for the drugs.

"Beatrice," He tried again, her eyes jittery and searching. "What's going on?"

"I should have died." She sniffled, he wiped at her nose with a tissue.

"There's a lot of things that should have happened, you surviving is at the top of my list." He sat and felt the blood start to return to his fingers. "Did you have a dream, or did Four say something?"

"Four! Tobias!" She cried out and let quiet whimpers replace what little composure she'd gained, but she calmed quickly.

"I can find, him, I can get him." Part of him had relished in her rejections of Four, the part that wanted her to be his family, not someone else's. But then there was that more dignified, selfless part that wanted her to be happy and started to grow concerned each time he passed the wreck of a man curled up in the hallway, waiting.

"He's gone. I sent him away."

"Beatrice, why would you do that?" This didn't make sense, of course none of it made sense.

"I left him. I chose to leave him!' A fresh round of screechy sobs and hiccups, then an unintelligible statement then a clearer "I'm supposed to be with mom and dad." Her statement was unambiguous and her eyes pointed right at him. "I told her I was coming, I told her I'd be right there. She must be so disappointed in me."

"You're babbling, who did you tell? When was this? Where are you going?"

"Mom!" She sobbed again, losing it and continuing to cry out, it sounded like, "She must be so angry with me." She let her words dribble into moans s the drugs had their full effect and she slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Caleb walked to the nurse's station. The taller first lady had dread on her face, obviously concerned he was going to call her back in. "I'd like to talk to the doctor, and um, do you have someone that deals with emotional damage, a therapist?"

"Hmm, I'm sure we do, but I can't seem to remember." She stared off and to the left, this part of the wipe had been the most annoying. They'd remembered their professional skills, their ability to talk and care for themselves, they knew where to do and when for work, but no one could remember each other.

"Can you check a directory?" He prompted, not willing to watch the blanked neurons. She brightened, like that was the best idea she'd heard all day.

"So, um, your sister?" The therapist asked, as she flipped through the pages of her chart. She was a short and stocky woman with a bob just below her earlobes and a waistline that was about a round as her torso making her seem like a kindly sphere with arms. She had pink rosy cheeks and pale lips that blended in with the rest of her skin. "Exposure to the memory serum, that's horrible." She gasped, "And the death serum, wow, she survived the death serum." She looked into the room like it was housing a holy relic. "And bullets to boot. What an amazing girl."

"Yeah, she's astounding." He placated, "Anyways, I think she's in some sort of emotional distress. She hasn't been herself since she woke up, and today she keeps saying that she should have died and that she was supposed to meet our mother some place. But our mother died."

"I'm sorry for your loss." She gave him a gentle touch as she said it. He didn't want her kindness. He wanted her answers. "I don't think anyone's ever looked into the effects of the two serums would have, I mean, no one survives the death serum. But I would bet, since the memory serum targets, well, memories and the death serum shuts down critical functions that she probably had a very vivid hallucination." She paused, "What else about her behavior has been different?"

"She doesn't want to talk about anything but growing up, at least with me. Then there was a guy she was with and she refused to see him. Wouldn't talk about him, wouldn't let him in the room. I guess she told him to leave, but they'd been pretty, bonded?" He wasn't certain of the words he should use as the idea of them together still creeped him out, "Shared experiences and such from Chicago."

"I wonder," She tapped her lips, "I seem to recall there was this guy, oh what was his name? He worked in the labs and he did research on serums." She struggled. "What was his name?" She snapped her fingers and Caleb knew there wasn't anything coming, but it did give him an idea.

"Matthew." He stated, dryly. A figure that had been almost entirely absent since she'd come out of surgery.

"Maybe, I don't know, doesn't sound right. Anyway," She gave up, "I'm going to go sit with her, see if I can rouse her up to talk." She toddles into the room and Caleb starts the sprint down the hallway to the labs, his cold bare feet slapping on the tiles as he went.

He found the office, knocked loudly, and then entered.

"Caleb?" Matthew was behind a desk, a device to his ear, "I'll have to call you back." He murmured and set it down. "What's wrong? Is Tris okay?" He said it with genuine concern, a good sign in Caleb's book.

"No, she's not. What are the side effects of a small dose of memory serum mixed with death serum mixed with bullets?"

"Uhm, I'm going to assume that's as rhetorical as it is impossible to answer." He shuffled his paper work into a stack. "So, what symptoms is she presenting?"

"Extreme sadness, vivid dreams, dissociation from loved ones, the declaration that she should be dead." He listed, "She sent Four, -er Tobias, away. I haven't seen him today; he's been practically living in the hall outside her door."

"Can't say I'm sad to see the guard dog put outside." Matthew replied, uncensored, "Not that I have all the background, but the guy seemed unstable." He paused for a second, pulling a notebook out of a drawer of other notebooks and started to flip, "Vivid dreams? Like what?"

"She says she told our mother that she would meet her somewhere and now she's really upset that she can't."

"When did she have the dream?"

"I don't know."

"I think you should find out. If it was last night, could be a medication playing with her receptors, simple change in dosage or pharmacology and they'll stop."

"I'll talk to the doctors."

"Would you mind if I talked to her? I've wanted to go around and check in, but with David, dead." Caleb winced, the memory of his own doing not pleasant in his mind, "I've been left to calm the rest of the government offices, and you know explain the accident."

"Yeah, come by whenever. And thanks for the suggestion." They exchanged smiles and Caleb marched back, stopping to dress himself on the way. She was still asleep, the therapist gone; he confronted the doctors, who were puzzled when they combed her records for what could have the side effect. It wasn't obvious to them.

Matthew came a little after two, Tris had woken up and was picking at the bloodied cuticles of her fingers, repeatedly. Pick and pick. The tears flowed fluidly, coming without the sobs that rocked her body earlier.

"Hey Tris." He announced from the doorway, Caleb right behind him, she smiled, "Mind if I come in?"

"Yeah, sure." He stood at the foot of her bed, flipping through her charts. "Long time no see."

"Yeah, things have been busy, cleaning up and all." He murmured, reading, flipping. "Caleb mentioned that you had a vivid dream, about your mother?" Her face darkened, she sniffled. "When did you have this dream?" She looked at Caleb, accusatory and suspicious. "Caleb, would you mind if we talked alone?" He backed out the door and shut it.

"There, just you and me." She smiled at him, gripping his hand. "When did you have this dream?"

"When I died."

"You didn't die.

"I did." She sniffled again, "It was cold and bright. And my dad called me over to him. And my mom was there." She struggled to keep her emotions in check. "And they said I was done, all done. That I needed to go home with them. And I wanted to. I wanted to go." She broke down; he carefully leaned in and put his arms around her, she clinged on to him while he hushed her.

"It's okay. Maybe they meant you had to go home, like to Chicago." He soothed and she sniffled.

"You believe me?"

"I believe you saw what you saw." He nodded and smiled. "Anyone that doubts you is a fool."

"I don't think Caleb would believe me." She shot a glare out the door.

"And Tobias?" He asked, not certain if it was a good idea to ask or not, but part of him needed to hear her say he was gone.

"Are you going to lecture me too?" She dropped his hands and looked around for an escape she couldn't make.

"Your decision is your decision." He stated, "I'm not one to judge."

Physical therapy started as soon as she was off the IV antibiotics and painkillers. It was painful and exhausting, but the trainer kept commenting on her physical strength, the leftovers of initiation, being a benefit to her muscle memory. The serums sped up the healing of her body and the pharmacy helped seal her mind away. At first to help her sleep, then another pill to keep her asleep, then another to wake her up, and one to keep the demons away during the day. Then when her focus slipped and she wasn't able to stay on top of the simplest of schedules, another to help her remember. Her day was marked by handfuls of tablets and glasses of water and this underlying hope that if she messed up, at least once, it would seem like an accident when they came and found her body.

Thoughts like that started to become consuming. She'd walk along the tall walls of the building, looking up and wondering where the stairs were. She'd let the wind lick at her bare ears and wonder if she forgot to put on her coat how long until exposure took her. She eyed the knife at the dining hall, rounded tip, but serrated edge. An off the cuff comment to the therapist, and another pill was added to the schedule. The thoughts decreased, but they didn't stop.

"So how did you feel this week?" Taryn, the plump woman with rosy cheeks would sit and smile with a cup of tea for each of them in the cozy and book-filed office.

"Like a machine." She was having an honest day. "Like I've been programmed to perform the same thing over and over and over and over..." She let her voice trail off.

"It's important to have a routine when you're in recovery. Your body wouldn't appreciate variety right now."

"I know." She sighed.

"When you think about it, when you say it, what's the emotion you're feeling?"

"Umm, hmm." She reflected in, her stomach was upset, which was usual after her morning doses. However, it annoyed her that her arm ached from the morning's therapy session. Her legs felt disjointed from her hips, tingly. But her core, her heart, her head, "Numb. I feel numb. I thought I felt agitated, but right now, I don't think I feel anything."

Christina walked with her, down a long hallway from one therapy session to the room with beds. Christina's presence was also a routine. She, Caleb, and Matthew would take turns walking with her from one place to the next. They'd chat about nothing and everything and she found herself having the same conversation about the chill and the snow over and over and over. However, they'd agreed she couldn't be without supervision, not after it became apparent she was suicidal.

"You know, we can't stay in that room forever." Christina actually had something new to say, "Word's spreading and people from Chicago want out, people from outside want in." They're talking about making it into a temporary housing unit, you know for when the people start arriving. They've asked if we want our own apartments."

"Do we?"

"That's up to you. Cara wrote back, she says Johanna's forming a strong 'coalition' government. Like with people from all over, not one faction or otherwise. And that people are moving out of the faction head quarters and rebuilding in the vacant areas. So, you could go back, make a good life out of it."

"A good life." she laughed a little, "Are you staying then?"

"They need help organizing the logistics between the Bureau and Chicago and improving the ones between here and other places. They've asked me to stay."

"That's exciting for you." But she didn't feel excited, she knew she should, but she didn't. "I'll talk to Caleb; see what he wants to do. And Matthew, he'll know what's best."

This last statement made Christina bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. There had been a growing number of statements like that, statements that confirmed he was heavily influencing her decisions. But, Christina couldn't say what she wanted, because it was based on the assumption that Matthew was bad because he wasn't Four. And that's not something friends get to express out loud, especially since Tris had never talked about what happened or why she did what she did.

"Well, let me know what you decide. If you're staying here, who you want to live with, you know, me or Caleb, I'll try to get us a three bedroom, but no guarantee." She adds instead. Tris nods and unlatches her arm as she arrives at the door to Matthew's office. It was his turn to babysit.

"Hello, Tris." He smiled broadly, coming over and dismissing Christina with a wave. "Come on in." This was an hour of his day when he could eat lunch and not do the pressing work of the government. It was just as much a relief for him to have her there as it was for her to be away from the doctors and therapists. She pulled out a pack and put her pills on the table, he poured her a glass of water and she threw them back. He produced a plate with buttered toast and slices of cold white meat. His food was simple and she liked that.

"So what's it today, professor?" She asked, tearing at the crust.

"Oh, I found this." He pulled a book out of his bag, "In the Library, there's a whole room full of books that were banned but never destroyed." He said devilishly, like they were about to do something forbidden, "And now I have a master key to ever room, so I'm rescuing history." The cover said, War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells.

"History, you say?"

"Well, the book is historical; I've read references to it. But, no it's pure fiction." But I thought you might enjoy a little fiction." He also reached down and pulled out a bigger book with a cloth binding, "But I did find this too, The History of the United States, 1492-2000. As you can see, it's very old." he tapped the dates, "But it's probably more accurate than the other books we have on our shelves, men have a tendency to re-write things to match what they want them to say."

She turned it over in her hands, "Christina says I have to make a decision soon, to stay here or go back to the city."

His face got serious, contemplative. "Is it really a good idea to leave now? All your therapists are here."

"I don't know. There are people in Chicago, doctors and therapists. I haven't had to do anything new for a long time; I could just keep going on my own. But what do you think I should do?"

"I don't want you to go, selfishly." He coyly smiled, "I like you." He admitted, "And if you go back to Chicago, you'll meet other guys and I'll be stuck here wondering what could have been."

She felt uncomfortable, pinched, the first tingling of an emotion in a long time. Caught off guard, she couldn't say anything.

"I know, it's probably all too soon, with Tobias and being injured, I get it." He looked bashfully, "I need more water." He excused himself hastily.

She used the moment of seclusion to gather her thoughts and rationalize what just happened. She'd given up Four, the only kindness she knew how to give him at the time. And that meant she was unattached. Logically, she would date again. She didn't realize that the choice would come so soon. Falling for Four was something that just happened, when she least expected it. But then again, she didn't expect this either. The anxious feeling in her stomach felt somehow too close to guilt for her to cross that line, yet.

He came back in, the pitcher now topped off, his face avoiding her eyes. Looking anywhere else, he found a book and opened it to start reading.

"Matthew," she cleared her throat, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. I was inappropriate." He smiled, "I apologize."

"Don't." She smiled back. "It is a little soon, but I don't _not_ like you." She blushed. "But I think it's best to go back into Chicago. Its home, you know?"


	4. CH4: Back in the lead

**A/N: I'm a little freaked out, in a good way, by the number of people reading. Thanks. **

**Two questions... PM or review - 1. Length preference - short like this? Longer like the others and 2. Day of the week to update? M,T,W,R,F,S,S? **

A meeting was called in the work camps. Two other buildings crowded into Four's, the first time it actually felt warm in weeks. One of the de facto leaders from each camp milled around at the opening of the building before climbing up onto a chair each. And the barrel-chested, beer bellied foreman of the worksite, who did not live in the camps, entered with six heavily muscled and armed men. The climate electrified.

"Thank you for coming." One of the leaders stated, helping him up onto a chair that threatened to break under his hulking mass. Snide comments were made by the thickest workers who were half his size.

Before anyone else could start with pleasantries or gain control of the impending conversation, a loud voice behind Four erupted in an accusation. "Sick men shouldn't work!"

"Now now." The foreman patted the air like he could calm them, and they settled out of want for information, not respect. "You have suffered a terrible loss, I understand you're concerned. We have launched a full investigation into the accident. But rest assured, that's what it was, an accident."

"That's not good enough." Another cheer.

"No safety, no work." Half the crowd crowed, the other muttered before being silenced.

"But if you don't work, you won't be paid. How many of you can afford that?" The foreman shrugged. "An accident, is just that, an unavoidable part of life." The crowd starts to churn, moving and stepping like a monster gaining momentum.

Winston, the leader of Four's building called out, and some of the movement ceased. "There was one person that saw the potential, one person who was ready and saved many others." He paused, "I'd like to know what he saw, Four? Where is Four?"

Four was only just coming out of his daze and repetitive second guessing, Liam elbowed him and called, "He's here." Pointing at him and the crowd turned.

The crowd clapped and murmured their support. Hands reached out and shook his or pushed his shoulder as he moved forward. The attention and physical encroachment made him uneasy and claustrophobic. He had to swallow the bile that rose up into his mouth as he moved as quickly as the bodies would allow. Towards the front, they parted quicker, knowing he was coming and he had to consciously reduce his pace so as not to run out from between the bodies.

They all eagerly looked for him to confirm what they had already decided. He hadn't prepared himself to address anyone, he'd rather be outside in the snow and cold thinking through his feelings. But his experience told him this was a delicate situation one that called for him to be strong, to say the right thing, or they'd turn on him. It was not unlike his feeling just before stepping up in front of Candor. He looked down at his feet for a moment and noted the brown stain of blood on his pants and shirt, a fact that made him even more self-conscious in the intense focus of the forum. The blood did something else, it gripped the men staring back at him and lended instant weight to anything he had to say.

"So?" Winston stepped down and pushed him up on the chair so he could be seen and heard. The foreman rolled his eyes, the crowd of normally boisterous men was silent except a few coughs and the screech of a chair on the concrete. Four stared blankly at Winston, suddenly overcome by a loss of words. "Tell them how you reacted so quickly."

The truth, if he dared to speak it, was that loud noises meant move in his muscle memory. There wasn't anything intelligent about it. It wasn't even an instinct. His nature had been reprogrammed into reaction through drill after drill after drill. But that's not what all these faces wanted to hear. This crowd wanted retribution not excuses. Today, he couldn't be honest, he just had to be brave and believe that words could go further than violence.

He summoned his authoritative voice which he could boom out over the crowd, "The operators were tired, we all were. I was. They made a mistake with the chain. But the position of the materials was also too close. There wasn't any planning for things to go wrong, if the site manager had paused to just think if the pillar could fall and strike anything, I bet he would have put the materials further away."

They nodded with him, almost all of them; he was saying the right thing. He had them on his side, but he also had to keep them from advancing on their own. He turned to the foreman and tried to evenly distribute the blame, "It's clear to me that more than one thing went wrong, but it was also clear that safer situation could have been attained with some planning, one without so much potential." He looked directly at the foreman, who sneered as the crowd's agreement hummed.

The foreman erupted with dismissive laughter, "The wise words of a child." Four groaned on the inside, this was not the way to keep these masses still, "What makes you so sure you're you can trust this kid? He's fresh off a bus, wet behind the ears, no real experience. He's here today, run home to mommy tomorrow."

His emphasis on his age was effective among many of the others in the camp, especially the two thirds that lived in the other buildings. Although he'd never mentioned his exact age to anyone, it wasn't hard to tell from his lack of gray hairs and wrinkles that he was younger than most. Age wasn't part of the equation in Dauntless, it hadn't occurred to him until that very moment that he'd been judged by his peers and deemed lacking merely based on a number, not his skill of experience. It made him angry and resentful, but again, he reminded himself that he had to control himself.

Four's thoughts took more than a second, before he could answer for himself, one of his friends shouted, "Chicago, he's Dauntless." They all whisper amongst themselves and it evokes the feelings of judgment in Candor for the second time.

"Whatever that means." The foreman mutters and laughs.

That was it, he couldn't contain himself. "Careful, Mr. Foreman." He warned in a dropped tone. "I have done things much more dangerous than building roads. I know better than anyone here, people are not replaceable." His last statement doesn't carry much beyond the first ten rows, but the foreman's eyes widen at the response.

"People, are not replaceable!" a man in the front row shouts, then another, in a slow menacing chant the whole building all together. The foreman shrinks and steps off the chair, the crowd moves forward a half a foot, he shrinks back two. They lurch, the energy building, and they are unable to keep still. He swiftly steps behind his entourage and out the door. The chant dies out and Four stands on the chair while the wave of people throng around him in discussion.

Winston and the two other leaders, Steven and Mohamar move in next to him and buffer the bodies so he can get down. "What should we do next?" Steven asks, a question to all of them, including Four who's actively looking for a way out of the closing crowd.

Winston turns to him, "We don't want war here." there's fear in his eyes, "Can we avoid people dying?" Four can't hardly concentrate on his face, he's too busy looking all around him to find room to berath. "Are you okay?" He askes.

"This won't be another Chicago." Mohamar rolls his eyes, "It's completely different."

"All the menial labor in the city was targeted and wiped out, what do you think we are?" Winston continued obviously scared, and misinformed.

"Over there." Four interjected and pointed to the side of the building before moving out of the crowd. "Couldn't hear you." He lied, finally feeling like his lungs could fill all the way. "The government was the target." He dismissed, "Not the factionless. This is different, I think you can avoid fighting here. You just have to be smart about your approach, smart about what you say."

"Can you be smart?" Steven challenged. "Can you help us do it?"

He looked around at the thin and dirty men who are still milling and discussing passionately, and he felt the weight of obligation settle over him. He had one second to choose to run from it or submit. "If I can help, I will."

"Okay, what about a work stoppage? He's right, most of us can't afford not to work. We're almost dead as it is." Steven shrugged.

"There's safety in numbers. Back home, everything came from our factions. You had a bit of credit that you could use month to month for specific things, but all the basics came from the faction. And there's safety in that."

"What do you mean?" Mohamar asked.

"Food, shelter, water, hygene, clothes, all the basics, we all need it. Everyone pitches is and everyone gets what they need. Alcohol, whores, entertainment, all that has to come from what you save up on the side."

"Socialism. They tried that, lead to the war." Winston spat.

"I'm telling you, if you ask the men to strike, they'll say they'll starve and they'll be right. But if you ask them to contribute to a food supply that's there when times are hard, I bet we can do it."

They devised a plan, something that would keep the men alive but push for better conditions. Each of the three warehouses would strike on separate days of the week. Food would be shared, rations put together and distributed. A store of non-perishables would be created to save up for a rainy day. The message was delivered to each of the warehouses. Not everyone agreed, they were informed that they could continue to spend their money however they wanted, but rent was going up a dollar a week to support the plan.

The next day, two thirds of the men stepped out onto the road, the rest marched to the work assignment department at the Mayor's office and sat on the sidewalk and lingered in the street. He plodded along the path to the worksite and joined the bottle neck as each man passed by the brown blood stain in the dirt. The plan was in motion.


	5. CH5: Discomfort in a New Normal

Christina cried loading the small suitcase that primarily contained heavy books and dozens of pill bottles. Tris was cleared to travel and put in her papers with Caleb to get a place back in Chicago. They were given the choice of returning to their factions or starting fresh in a building near Erudite. While her suicidal thoughts had disappeared into the haze, Caleb didn't trust her to keep herself alive. So they put in for the new space where they could be together. They were told it would be a two bedroom apartment that had fresh white paint and a set of standard issue furniture, just the bare necessities: two mattresses on the floor, a table and chairs, and nothing else. There was a welfare office that would give them food until they could afford to buy it themselves and then they'd be on their own to purchase anything else they needed from their pay checks.

Caleb called the Erudite facility, getting patched around from lab to lab until he had Cara on the line. She got him a position in a lab down the hall from her. His background in serums and the aptitude test meant that he was marked for close supervision by the government overseers. His attention was now to be turned to vaccines and pharmaceutical compounds. The idea of getting back to honest, truthful work thrilled him.

Conversely, Tris had no interest in working. She didn't have interests outside of reading books from Matthew. But everyone in Chicago had to work, so she dutifully took a position inside Johanna's executive organization, coordinating the dispersion of supplies. While she originally dreaded it because it relied so much on social interaction, her inquisitive nature was inevitably peaked by the stories she heard. At first, it was annoying and time consuming to get them through what they had to say before she could do her job. But the books that Matthew had given her that she enjoyed the most were all histories from the former United States, a history they had tried very hard to remove. Quickly, she realized that history started from the people that were there and she was waist deep in firsthand accounts.

Factionless and faction-loyal alike fed her fascination into an addiction. She recorded anything they wanted to say: what happened on the day Abnegation was slaughtered, where they were when the Candor were enslaved, rumors they heard in their families about divergent aunts and uncles. She wrote it all down, desperately attending to each detail so that no name one was forgotten. The candor were the easiest, the Abnegation the most difficult. She had a special notebook, one which she'd fill with her and Caleb's memories of their family. She'd brought him to tears more than once pressing more and more, thirsting for memories.

Hearing the stories of others, she couldn't avoid noting the parallels to her own. She started with the morning of the attack, what it was like to wake up among the zombies. But she stopped when she got to the train. Then fast forwarded to the procession to her death tank. And she paused, pen in mid word. History wasn't supposed to be selective. It didn't make compromises for emotions.

But that was the hardest part; she felt nothing when she should be overly sensitive. It should make her sad to think about Tobias. She should feel anxious or even desperate contemplating that he could disappear from the planet and she'd never know. But instead she felt nothing; not even guilt over not feeling. And the idea that she didn't feel the sting of loss made her conclude that she was broken, it was only logical.

Not one to waste the opportunity of her own dissociation, she wrote it all down, as she remembered it in full. Tris was spending hours at night actively trying to force herself to feel something, anything, but nothing came. She tried to be as descriptive as she could about the sound of the stones under the feet of the soldiers as they spread out through the streets of abnegation. And the thunk of the fists that beat Tobias back when he attacked Jeanine. And she got through it all, every little thing until she got to being rescued by her mother.

This confirmed she was defective: she visualized the route through the streets and every squeeze of the trigger. It was easy for her to recall Will, furrowed brow and full of kindness, on the ground. She didn't even need a break when she recorded the pattern of the bullets she saw strike her mother. She only stopped because Caleb came into the room with another handful of pills and a glass of water so she could have a dreamless night's sleep like only a mindless idiot can have.

Within the first week she got a surprise visit from Amar and George having received word from Christina. They'd left a week or two earlier and had scouted out the Dauntless facility, finding a couch and some kitchen items that they thought they could use. She told herself that she was excited to see them, excited to hear what the new Dauntless would be, maybe she could go back after all. But it was the same lie she told herself when finding that she was awake for an event, being awake surely meant she was engaged.

"Oh, you know, it's a bunch of fools preparing for the end of the world." George explained, "There's so much paranoia about serums already in their systems and this new government outside. I don't think they trust the factonless getting any piece of the pie." He shrugged, "But that's okay. They have these ghosts to guide them." He pointed between them.

He paused and pulled out a notebook his face becoming serious. "I've been collecting Tori's things from her apartment." His voice was strained and Amar put a supportive hand on his shoulder. "She was an artist, you know, and I understand she helped you, she knew so many people well, but anyways." He stopped his own rambling, "I'm offering people a piece of her artwork." He pulled out a portfolio filled with thick sheets of paper. "If you'd like to take one?"

She opened it on the table, sitting up on her knee to get perspective. Each sheet was a single, simple design, probably meant for tattoos. A few were full of color and a couple were more realistic, too fine in their detail to ever be transferred to skin.

"She really had a talent." She started to sort them, ones that she enjoyed and others that were less meaningful or interesting. The she saw the Dauntless flames, like the one on her shoulder, the Abnegation hands that she'd ingrained as well. And something that looked familiar but she couldn't place from where. She started to lay the pieces of individual paper out turning one ninety degrees another fully around until it was obvious, this was Tobias's tattoo in all the individual pieces. There were designs upon designs of options. She imagined Tori similarly sitting with him going through sheet after sheet of ideas until he was satisfied.

She looked up at George, "This is Tobias'." she stated, and he and Amar looked, cocked heads back at her. Of course, they'd probably never seen his tattoo. She knew he didn't show many people, but Amar was one of his close friends. He moved to look from her view point and then it felt intrusive, like she was letting them see something that they shouldn't. And that made her feel something, finally, in the hallow of her chest. "You should set this aside, for him. He might like it." Her voice caught in her throat as she pulled the papers hastily together and stacked them. She'd been looking for that feeling for days, but now that it was on display in front of these almost strangers, she wanted nothing to do with it.

"You should keep them," Amar offered, but his tone wasn't congenial, "for when he comes back. You're the closest to family, he has here. At least that's what he said." That dug deep into her, most likely his intention.

"He isn't coming back." She stated stubbornly and easily, the spurt of emotion that made it through the chemicals had been suppressed by a moment's breath.

"You should keep them." George insisted, glaring at Amar. "Things are chaotic right now, I wouldn't want them to get damaged or misplace. If he's not back in a year, get rid of them if you want, or maybe they're a memory you become fond of. You can still take another one that means something to you."

She wondered if the preference she felt for George over Amar was emotion or just fact. Then she had to consider Amar's point of view. She hadn't thought about what Tobias leaving would mean to other people that cared for him, and obviously Amar had remaining affection for him. She set the stack to the side, satisfying them that she would hold on to them. She continued to pull sheet after sheet until she found it, a series of birds, and each one in a different stage of flight down to landing on a pond. There are seven on the sheet.

"This one," She smiled, "Maybe I'll complete the set, one day. Or get this one fixed, at least." She pulled her collar back so George could see. The bird on the bottom was sliced by the healing scar from one of her surgeries.

Caleb brought them tea in mix-matched mugs and Amar finally sat, seemingly satisfied to move on to a different topic. George collected together the drawings and placed them carefully in his bag.

"So, how is dauntless?" Tris asks, it's all he needs to get started.

"Obviously, you can't make people give up factions." Amar liked to be philosophical, "If this is going to be a society of free will, you have to let the people decide. So far, most everyone is deciding to stay in their factions. But then we have the question about the future, choosing day is about six months away. The current proposal is to allow anyone who wants, regardless of origin of birth, to take the aptitude test and then they can choose a faction or be with the factionless, they're keeping the name Allegiant. The current argument is about initiation and if people can fail, what happens to them."

"Sounds like a lot of rules for freedom." Caleb chuckled.

Amar shrugged, "There's ideas about putting each kid through three weeks in each faction, you know, so they're informed about what they're choosing."

"And what about jobs?"

George interjected, "There's still a need for the factions to keep doing what they're doing and the factionless to do what they do, but you know, get paid. But I think over time those lines will blur. You'll have Dauntless working on the factory line not just the security. Factionless will train to be judges." He pointed at Tris, "Like your job, what faction do you think that makes you apart of?"

"Abnegation." Caleb labeled, "Clearly."

"But there's a lot of calculations and formulas, like the Erudite, and then the bureaucracy just like Candor wants, and neither would like the time you put into your side project. Don't think we haven't heard about it." Caleb shrugged and either agreed or didn't feel strongly enough to disagree.

"You need to come back." George confirmed, "At least to visit, see what there is to see."

"I'll probably be there in a few weeks, you know, doing the rounds." She confirmed.

"They must miss you, the way they talk."

"What do you mean? I was barely a member." She remembered quickly the list of people she knew that were still alive, just a handful. It bothered her that even that didn't make her feel anything.

"But you saved them, counts for a lot in Dauntless." Amar pointed out.

Her first time back in Candor was stifling, to Abnegation was stark, and to Erudite was surreal. Crews of Allegiant laborers were busy cleaning up the destruction and repairing the labs. Caleb worked in this building, the lab he'd originally trained it was already back together. But she wasn't here to see him. She was here to see Mario, the new leader of the Erudite. She stepped into the elevator, escorts on either side of her. The walls were too close to her, and their bodies too rigid, proper. Her heart rate started to rise as they passed floor after floor. Then the swell of panic started to come over her as her memories came back to her in spurts. The box slid to a stop and the doors opened.

The escorts, together, put their arms out behind her funneling her forward into the hallway. She lost herself. She was being pushed down the hall to her cell. The soreness in her body echoed through her, residuals of Jeanine's latest simulation. She would die here if she could not escape; she should die here to escape. If she attempted, they might kill her in the chaos. She lashed out, using her full power and what little utility she had in her shoulder to bring the goons down to their knees. More rushed at her, to constrain her. She shrieked and called out, begging "No, please, no more. Just kill me! Please, just kill me!"

When her heart rate returned to normal and the panic had subsided, she was under several bodies. And the air was full of frustrations and questions. Down the hall, a familiar outline approached, Caleb.

"Get off her." He called, "Get her up."

"She attacked us." One of the escorts cupped his cheek, leaning against the wall.

She felt the bodies come up off of her and Caleb sunk to his knees, helping her to a sitting position. "What happened Tris?"

"I, um, I thought they were..." then she stopped, noting she had nothing rational to say. She panted and refocused, seeing her bag sprawled out over the floor, "I'm sorry, I got confused." She started to pull the contents back together, Caleb helped her.

"She's okay, PTSD." He explained, ducking his head down, embarrassed for her, not that the others seemed willing to forgive her just yet.

Her supervisor, Carl, called her into his office immediately when she stepped back into the building. "Tris, come on." He smiled, patting her gently on the back as he brought her in. Johanna was already there, wearing a concerned expression.

"I'm sorry about today, it won't happen again." She stated, eyes averted.

"I don't think you can make that promise." Johanna's voice was smooth and soothing. "It was a horrible few months. For you, I gather it was worse than for others." Tris didn't like comparisons, like her losses were worth more than others, or that somehow she was more damaged. "I'm concerned about you, whether this is the right position."

"I love this work." She lied, she loved the access it gave her.

"I'm not proposing we take it away from you." Johanna clarified. "But I also don't want to risk your health. I've heard about this new technique for getting through tough times like these. I want you to consider going, it's called a support group. People with challenges helping each other." She passed a small note to her. "I'd really like you to consider it. Until I have some assurances that you're dealing with these demons, I'm going to ask that the leaders meet you in the entrances of their facilities, you know keep you out of specific places that may hold too many memories."

Tris nodded, taking the note. It felt like she was admitting her weakness for the first time outside of her own head. In Abnegation, she learned from her mistakes, her guilt, she let it make her stronger. No one else could help her do that. In Dauntless, she learned the skills; she trained her body; Tobias didn't make her strong; he helped her hide. Accepting help, or expecting help, or thinking that there was some magical group she could go to that would make this all better was a lie. She would have to make herself strong again. She tucked the note in her pocket, only because throwing it away in front of them would be rude.

She arrived home late, again. To Caleb pulling her dinner out of the refrigerator and sliding an envelope across the table to her. She expected Christina's hand writing, but it wasn't. Matthew's letter was dated for the end of December, almost two weeks since she'd last heard from him. She missed him and how his voice sounded so emotive when he was reading to her or delivering his opinion like a lecture. She felt so free just being around him.

He always started very formally, this time informing her that he was now the liaison between the Bureau's scientists and Chicago's. He'd be in the city in a week and would come by to see her. And then he'd switch, like he couldn't help himself but break out of the regiment of being a scientist. Often with compliments and well wishes and this time an excited plea for her to give him a personal tour of the city. She read and re-read, letting the inkling of real excitement fill her. Caleb looked relieved when she told him the details. It didn't take his body more than a second to help her realize what a burden she was to him.

He made sure she was up in the morning, since the pills she took to sleep often took longer to wear off. He made sure she ate at least twice a day, doing most of the cooking. He also did almost all of the chores. He would get home almost the same time each day while she would stay as long as she could with each person getting their history. She'd come home and dinner would be ready. And so would Caleb. He'd be prepared with some topic to talk about and fill the rest of the night, something that would keep her mind with him and not off on its own.

"What can I do differently?" She asked, picking up the plates and taking them to the sink.

He looked back at her, concern etched on his face. "Why do you ask?"

"I realize that I've been selfish with you." She started, the guilt washed all across her face, the usual sign that her next dose was pending. "You cook, you clean, you keep me company. Without you I probably wouldn't take the right pills or do the physical therapy. I mean, I can't even wake up without you in the morning." She smiled, "It doesn't seem fair. And I want this to be fair." She said emphatically, "So what should I do differently?"

"Honestly?" He asked, starting to distribute her doses from each bottle.

"Yeah." She took them from him and eyed them in the palm of her hand. Weighing them against fleeting thoughts.

"I think we should split the chores, you know like we did growing up. Maybe you could be home at a more predictable time, so if I wanted to do something I would know when to be back so your not alone." He sighed and smiled, passing her a glass of water.

"Okay so chores. I'll get some paper." She pulled the pad out of her bag and they began the discussion into the division and the expectations. And she took the pile of pills with her when she was done.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, the last pill of the night, one that she required to sleep, she thought for a second about what the word required really meant. If she didn't take it, would she die? No. If she didn't take it she would dream and those dreams would scare her so badly that she would stand in the middle of the room to keep her body from shutting itself down. Her hand shook as she rolled it between her fingers and felt how small it is, then set it on the table. "Be brave, Tris." She told herself, and laid down.

She focused on her neck and shoulders, one muscle at a time until she was relaxed and fading off to sleep. An hour later, she was startled awake by something too far away from her memory for her to grab, but it took another thirty minutes to get her heart to calm down and her shoulders to relax. She took deep, measured breaths and closed her eyes. When she woke up just before her alarm, she did remember a less terror inducing dream.

Tobias was held between the black coats of Dauntless guards. She sat next to Matthew on a dais in a large hall, they had their hands clasped together. She knew for certain that she and Matthew were together. Tobias' head was hanging and his feet dragging as they pulled him forward in front of them. When he raised his head, Matthew pulled her hand to his lips and smiled greedily. All the color drained from Tobias' face like water dripping down a pane of glass. He was in black and white and when the color puddled around his feet, the guards let him fall, stiff and light like cardboard into the pool.

When she eyed the clock and saw the number flick up, she was nearly all the parts of a grieving woman at once: isolated, angry, bargaining, depressed, but she was not accepting. A part of her deep inside knew that she'd made a mistake and she could fix it, if only he was here for her to try. But there was the rational part that knew he was gone and never coming back. And he was better off away from her.

She let herself sit and grieve, no tears left to leech out until clock flipped up again and the alarm started to sound, Caleb coming in seconds later. He was startled to see her sitting up in bed, hugging her legs to her chest, cheek on her knees.

"Beatrice? Did you sleep okay?" He approached slowly, she uncurled, setting her feet on the floor.

"No."

He saw the pills out on her side table, "Did you take your medication?"

"No."

"Why not?" She shrugged, "I don't think you should be doing that on your own. These are very powerful medications. If you want to come off of them, you need to do it under supervision."

"Would you let me?"

"Will you tell me if you get bad thoughts again?"

"Yeah." She stood and took the pile of pills he had hidden in his fist, picked out the pill to wake herself up, and tossed them back.


	6. CH6: Fresh Hell, Part 1 of 2

**AN: Violence and Sexual content within this chapter and the next, your fair warning. I couldn't justify keeping it T, so I pushed it up to M. Please be fair to yourself and consider the boundary. Next chapter will pick up with Four, as they were originally one chapter concept that got to be way too long.**

Fresh Hell - Part 1

With each weekly letter from Christina, Four felt duty bound to respond immediately. They must have seemed like form letters for the first few. He talked about working on rebuilding roads and infrastructure in the dead of winter, the only change would be the mark of the miles of progress or the weather. But the work slow-down gave him something new to talk about. He didn't say much about his role in it. Just that they were trying to get better conditions for everyone.

In reality, he was into the strike deeper than he wanted to be and a series of incidents and bad decisions battered his fresh start into a nightmare. Each letter that avoided the details felt like a lie.

At first, Winston just asked him for his ideas then they all wanted him at a meeting. When his presence seemed to unnerve the negotiators, they wanted him there every meeting. Something about his youth and his coming from Dauntless made the administrators weary and the meetings more effective. The side effect being clear progress on their demands and violent retribution perpetrated on the workers in the city.

On one morning of his camp's day to strike, they woke before the sun thought to peak above the edge only to find that the doors had been sealed from the outside and smoke was filling the hall from the heating grates. Four was caught between the bodies as men pounded against the doors without success, coughing and gagging. He pushed his way to the vacant center, listening to the screams and shouts. A few people tried to get control, but panic was overtaking their calls. A few men fell beneath the feet of others and cried out as their bones cracked and the air was pressed out of their bodies. He quickly looked for an alternative. If the doors were locked, the windows were the only option. He looked up the long pipes that ran to the old sprinkler system, long disconnected, and the windows about two stories up.

He wrapped his hands around a pipe and fixed his legs to use the wall for grip. Slowly he climbed one hand over the other holding as tightly as he could, gagging on the increasing cloud and avoiding looking down. The higher he got the thicker the smoke and the less efficient his lungs, but he made it to the boarded windows. A ledge about six inches wide wrapped around the building just under the windows. He balanced on the balls of his feet and awkwardly braced against the top of the window wells. He pulled a board off and looked outside, hoping to see some way to the ground. To his right, about twenty feet down, a ladder went over half the way to the ground from the roof. He started to shuffle and noted, Rafael right beside him.

"What are you doing?" he asked, "It's dangerous up here."

"I'm not dying." He exclaimed, "come on, let's move." He encouraged and carefully shuffled along the ledge. Four pulled off the board carefully and let it fall outside. He leaned out to grip the ladder and shook it, to make sure it was still attached, the fresh air a calming relief but the glimpse of the ground bringing a curse up from his gut. It was easily two or three stories. At first blush, he'd been higher, but every time with more stable tools than the rusted rungs at his disposal.

"Wait for me to get down before you go, it might come off the wall with two of us." he warned before lowering himself down the rusted rails until he was only holding on by his arms, legs swinging free. Then he dropped. When his boots hit he felt the painful shock up his body and rolled to absorb, but his knee still twinged. He helped arrest Rafael's decent as much as he could without getting clobbered, getting an elbow to the neck as his reward.

They made their way to the front door where a group of on-looking city men were watching, not paying attention, smiles on their faces as they heard the screams and calls. Four seized one by the collar and pulled his neck to the side, as if he could rip it off. Holding the coward distended and vulnerable, he felt powerful and in control. The rest of the group responded in shock and bargained their friend for the key to the heavy chains that secured the door. Unfortunately for them, the evacuating crowd swallowed them up like locusts. Four helped to roll the bodies down the embankment of the river and through a hole they cut into the ice.

Not more than a week after, small groups of men coming and going between the camps and the bars or the shopping area in town started to get attacked. Some were just beaten, but a few were killed. Four, Rafael, and Liam were among those foolish enough to walk the three blocks home in a small group. While they thought they were safe, clearly in the darkened and disused wrong-side of the city, they were followed by three men. Liam saw them first and quietly pointed them out to Four, who stiffened and prepared.

"It's okay." He said, feeling his pulse quicken and focusing on the shuffle of the pursuing feet. His main concern was keeping his companions calm and hoping they weren't armed.

"There are three of them." Rafael stated, eyes fearful and wide. Four recognized the pupil dilation as a sure sign his companion wouldn't be much assistance.

"One will go for each of us. You just have to take a few punches, try to get some damage in yourself. I'll do the rest." He instructed trying to assure them as much and as quickly as possible. When they hit the first pitch-black alley outside of the street lights, the foot steps quickened in a sprint and the fists flew in the darkness. Liam and Rafael floundered and kicked the best they could. The sound of moans and grunts and the smack of flesh against flesh causing further confusion for the ill prepared men.

"Okay? Are you okay?" Four called heaving heavy breaths, and getting knocked down by Rafael's frantic punch, "Get up, moron." He griped, pulling him up by his collar, "Okay?" he asked.

Rafael could just make out the bodies on the ground behind them, rolling slightly as they started to evaluate the damages.

"You did that?" Rafael lingered, staring. Four grabbed him by the coat and forced him into a jog.

"Come on," Four pulled his jackets tighter around his neck and protectively held what he suspected to be a bruised hand but the way it stung it could have been broken.

He didn't mention any of this to Christina. He thought about it, but he didn't want to worry her. He left for a fresh start and he didn't want the reality to tint her view any further on his leaving. It was clear from most of her letters that she disagreed with his decision calling it a waste and exaggerating the ease of life she found in the Bureau. The last thing he wanted was to be a disappointment to yet another person, so he kept writing near carbon copies of the same letter each week.

In each letter she returned, she asked many invasive questions, he'd come to expect the frankness. He didn't concede to her most persistent query. His hand shook too bad with anxiety anytime he considered mentioning Matilda, who he knew was a bad decision from the start and writing it down would make it real.

He'd met her in the Mayor's office. She was a quiet secretary, a decade older than him, rushing from room to room with copies and a coy smile. Her hips would sway as she walked away and he didn't even try to keep from looking. He was so tired of controlling himself, monitoring his behavior, and without many women around, it was easy for him to be distracted by her. She was Tris's opposite: caramel skin, deep brown eyes, thick lips, more than a handful up top and curved out at the bottom. He was embarrassed by the rashness, the recklessness, the complete break with his philosophy on sex and affection. It wasn't a relationship but an arrangement.

She had approached him, bringing a pitcher of water to the table in the middle of a long day of negotiation, struck up a conversation, and later when he was heading out of the building with Steven and Winston, he found her waiting for her taxi.

"Have a nice night, Matilda." He smiled, pausing to pull on his gloves and hat before following the other men outside. It started without any pretense on his part, but there was something about her smile that made him pause.

"Stay warm." She replied and looked at her watch. Her long neck stretched to the side and her collarbones exposed. Her hand landed on her neck and softly scratched against her skin.

"Late again?" He asked, it seemed there was always someone waiting on a taxi, but she looked like she was inviting a conversation.

"Yep. I've called twice." She looked around the dark foyer, afraid of the shadows or at least feigning to draw him in. He knew the streets weren't safe, not everywhere, not even for the workers let alone a woman.

"I can walk you home, are you close?" A safe question if he was reading it wrong.

"Really, I can wait, I don't have anywhere to be." She sighed.

"I can walk you, it's not a problem." He offered, "Least I can do for you being so civil today. That must have gotten you into trouble. Do you live far?"

"Oh no, just three blocks. It's just not safe, you know, especially not by myself."

"I can keep you safe." he offered his arm. She looked him up and down, evaluated, then hooked her arm through his, "Now, which way?" It was too soon to claim success, but this was the furthest any of his attempts had brought him, well any attempt besides Tris. But he pressed her out of his mind, she wasn't here, she'd never be here, and she'd never be his. He had to focus hard to squelch the anger that was always just below the surface.

She lead him back along the sidewalk lined street, a whole section in the dark. He kept an alert eye out and an ear listening for any of the telltale signs of an attack. And he kept her talking, quietly and about nothing important. One thing Zeke had said over and over when he was priming him for dates: girls love to talk about themselves, just ask them questions. The fact that that's where his mind went made him feel even more out of place, this wasn't a date. But the advice was working.

"So, this is me." she smiled, outside the house.

"Glad I could get you home. You'd probably still be waiting on a taxi." He smiled, eyebrow arched and eager.

"I was happy for the company." She paused, then tilted her head, "Would you like to come inside?"

He didn't need Zeke's code book to know what she meant. Months of passing up the prostitutes, no privacy in the warehouses, it wasn't a hard choice. A put together woman with her wits about her and no other insentive than her own pleasures was offering. Maybe Zeke would have said something brash and forward to set the stage a little better, but Four could only blush and return an affirmative and quiet, "Yeah."

The house was warm, the floors were polished wood. Framed art hung on the wall and it smelled like cinnamon. It was extravagant by any Chicago standard and in comparison to the damp and rat-infested warehouse, like an oasis in a frozen dessert. She tugged him through a hallway that passed behind the exposed, grand staircase to a room too void of objects to be her actual bedroom.

She hesitantly touched her lips to his and parted them with her tongue, his body stiff and unresponsive at first. His inexperience showing in his mechanical motions. Her hands pushed his coat of his shoulders and her hands pushed up under his shirt. He surprised himself at how fast his hands seemed to figure out where to go and what to do. Her clothes fell to the floor as fast as his own as they sped past the pleasantries. She pulled a pouch out of the side table; and without any excuses or apologies, she pushed him over onto the bed.

He was on his back under her insistent hips forgetting what little he knew from being in love and losing himself in an instinctive lust. Then his only other experience chimed in to the back of his head and the anger started to take him over. He pushed her up off of him and over onto her back in a swift motion clutching around her shoulders with one arm and wrapping around the back of her head with the other. He held her solidly, fixed under him, cheek to cheek and without escape.

She was the wrong size. She smelled of the wrong, acrid perfume. Her plentiful moans sounded tinny and her tongue tasted of something he'd never eaten and everything she knew how to do was done too well. He ignored the piteous encouragements as she called out and let the anger filled thrusts prioritize his climax, hers being the least of his concern. She squirmed under him until he was exhausted and spent on top of her.

"That was angry sex." She panted, then laughed so amused, "Whoever she is, you tell her thank you when you see her next." Everything about her annoyed him in an instance and he couldn't join her revelry. He was a raw bundle of nerves, getting dressed and slinking back out into the cold.

It was the first in series of a dozen, selfish encounters. His body needed the release. His mind wanted to punish someone for what Tris had done. And Matilda liked it fast and a little rough. Most of their liaisons were at her work, after hours, after long meetings. She would pull him into closets on his way out of the building and crush into him with a fervent want. But other times she drug him back to the little room in the warm house and she traced designs on his skin as they relaxed against the pillows afterwards. She touched his tattoo over his shoulder and asked him questions, like lovers do, but he wouldn't answer, not for her.

After seeing the residual bruising from his own rough handling, he was less able to enact his rage out on her body, although she demanded it. Each time she asked him to hold her down, it made him long for that innocent, awkward first time all the while feeling it slip further and further away. His tolerance to the notion of never feeling that way again was decreasing and the home sickness swept in to replace the resentment.

The encounters swiftly became routine, mundane, carrying duty and not excitement; he couldn't feel satisfied and he didn't know what to do. The only thing he knew was from observing others in Dauntless. At a certain point, couples would settle into something less physical and more emotional. Maybe that's what he was supposed to do here. Zeke had made that transition with Shauna, so his thought he had to at least try.

"Do you ever want to go out?" He asked, fixing his clothes, "I could take you to a show, or something." It sounded as much like a chore as it felt when he said it out loud.

She didn't meet his eyes, "Maybe life here is different from Chicago." she started, "It's not really OK to do that here."

Now she was confusing him, "People still date in Milwaukee, don't they?"

"Not when they're married to other people." She laughed and his heart flipped.

"You're married?" His hand immediately combed across his cheeks like that would wash himself clean. She just nodded, "When were you going to tell me?"

"I thought you knew." She held up her right hand that displayed the fancy blue stones. She pulled her hair back up, fixing pins in place as she went. "It's not like a happy marriage, or anything. He's a much bigger cheater."

In Chicago, at least in Abnegation, they wore plain simple bands on their left hands. Left hands. He shouted in his head.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" His temper was on the rise, he had to remind himself not to do anything stupid.

"Look, Four, you're handsome and strong and so, so - hot." She put her hands on his chest, but she was repulsively forward when she put her hand on his genitals, "Don't deny it, you're having fun too." he smacked her hand away, a little harder than he intended, but he felt satisfied in her flinch.

He shook her off, absolutely disappointed and ashamed in himself. He had to concentrate on holding his chin up as he passed people in the hallway. He avoided her, as much as he could. He would pass her in the hallway sternly evaluating how wounded she looked. Taking some joy in her growing distress day after day. Not that he didn't have to exercise some willpower in deflecting her advances at the start of his silent treatment. He thought he'd put the bad decisions behind him, but it was just the beginning of a long February.


	7. CH7: Fresh Hell, Part 2 of 2

**AN: This chapter contains violence and sexual content, hence the M rating. It was originally part of Chapter 6, but the word count got a little extreme so I split it. I'm a "when it rains it pours" kind of person.**

Fresh Hell - Part 2 of 2

It wasn't more than two days after ending it with Matilda before his body started to crave an escape. The time with Matilda had been the closest he'd come to forgetting about Chicago, and he needed to forget. The grating feeling in his chest had been wearing like a sore in his sole for months and each empty walk to the work site gave him too much time to contemplate it's source. If meaningless and hasty sex could hold his focus for an hour or two, an actual relationship might hold it for longer, maybe forever.

His attention was quickly caught by someone he thought was more appropriate: a young woman that worked a shop in the city center that sold clothing. He went to the store twice that week trying his hardest to think of the most flattering lines and deliver them like he thought Zeke might. And she blushed and smiled building his sense of confidence and success. She was a tall and skinny woman, no rings on her fingers and with deep brown hair and eyes. She wore light make-up and light pink tops that made her freckles pop out despite the powder. Each time he offered to take her out after the shop closed, or on her day off, she politely and coyly turned him down.

"I have to stay in the shop, customers might come." She said, which sounded like what someone uninterested might say, but then she'd follow with a one-sided smile, "But I hope to see you again."

Finally getting his nerve up on his third attempt he asked, mostly joking but also desperate for her to agree to anything, "Can we both stay in the shop?"

She leaned across the counter and he leaned in as well for her to touch her lips to his. She let his hands hold her face and she kissed back eagerly and without reserve. He waved off the similarities to Matilda. But as soon as he had her in the back room, she solicited him for money, and he felt so stupid for not seeing it sooner. He paid her ten dollars for his first vigorous and inventive encounter with oral sex. The visual of her mouth around him and his hand holding her hair back was enough that he couldn't look her in the face again.

He'd struck out two times, three counting Tris. And he was ready to throw the baby out with the bath water. He swore himself to celibacy, at least for a month, and busied himself with running longer distances and more involvement in the work houses to keep himself away from women. He knew it was probably naive to think he could hold out forever, but the round of venereal diseases among the workmen helped steady his resolve to keep away from working girls.

{}

Many of the men were willing to let him gamble away his money and pass him bottles with liquor so foul it burned his nose before it touched the back of his throat. Two of the men, Rud and Tom, picked his lubricated mind for information about Chicago. He took it as friendship and they traded turns bad-mouthing the city folk, too wealthy to do more than push paper around offices. It felt good to commiserate and gripe, although one or two drunken statements from them told him they were far more serious than him.

They invited him out with them, just after dark, feigning a trip to the bar instead of a bottle, which struck him as strange. A block away from the pedestrian area, they fell silent. Four could sense an uneasy nervousness between them. He glanced back and forth, but both were looking down the street then ducked behind a wall.

"Are you ready?" Rud asked.

"What?" They pulled him back behind the bricks.

"There's a man and a prosty coming down for some fun." Rud grinned, "Time to teach him a lesson about life, right?"

"What?" He saw the knife come out of Tom's pocket. "No." He backed up, unwilling to participate in what he hoped was just a robbery, but given the back and forth of violence he now wasn't so certain.

"You said it yourself, the pricks that run this city don't appreciate what they've got." Rud hushed back, eying around the corner.

"No, this is not happening." Now Tom's knife was firmly pointed at him, Rud's blade longer and shining in the little light was ready. Two blades, one dark alley, a man and a girl approaching, close enough to hear their foot steps. He stepped out onto the side walk.

"Sir, I recommend you and the lady head back to the lit street." He called, holding his hands up in case they lunged at him.

The man seemed confused until he saw Tom, angry and cursing charge. But neither man was experienced enough to take on Four and he left them on the street to tend to their bruises alone. He made mention to Winston, who disagreed that they should turn them in.

"We can't turn on each other, not now. They'll tear us apart in the Mayor's office."

Rud and Tom eyed him at every opportunity, sneering as they passed or when they had to work together. He was certain they were behind the rash of violent attacks that were deservedly being blamed on the work camps. And as suspicion within the building started to narrow, he noticed their monitoring increasing with the rumors they sourced to him.

At the same time, there was an influx of men from outside, most of them from Indianapolis, and rations ran low as the supplies had to stretch to cover. So he went down to one meal a day as an example for others who were left with less than what the deserved. Malnutrition along with a poorly timed ankle sprain, made him weaker and he felt the piercing eyes on his back like he wore a bright red target.

Rud found him behind the building, doing chin ups on an old fence. He was alone, Rafael had left to help move supplies. He was isolated, the sound cut off by the swirl of the river. And an hour into a workout after a long cold day, he was physically spent. His ankle was still reducing his capability and along with it his confidence. In comparison, Rud was muscular and healthy. He'd been supplementing his rations with what he'd stolen for weeks. Four lowered himself to his feet slowly, hoping his display of strength would make his opponent turn and leave. But Rud was undeterred and pulled out his knife, twelve inches long like you'd find in a kitchen and started to approach with a sneer on his face.

Four felt his own pocket for the small switch blade he always carried and chastised himself for not transferring it from his other pair of pants. He was injured, unarmed, exhausted, and the doubt snuck into his thoughts. This could be his last fight.

"Oh my, the favorite Four. I've been waiting to have a private chat." He side stepped, his feet crossing and Four took the opportunity to grip a long metal post that was on the ground and lunge. Rud's feet tangled and he fell backwards, swinging the knife wildly and catching Four across the arm, and his side through his coat. But he had the pole down and on Rud's throat, the shock of it giving him a moment to punch the knife out of his hands and he positioned his knee on the bar and leaned down to cut off his wind pipe.

Rud struggled, slapping him with his hands, his face turning red and his eyes watering. He gagged and flailed. Rud had hurt people. He had attacked and stabbed and assaulted people. And here he was attacking Four. The decision was swift and not unlike many he'd made. The only thing Four knew was that he couldn't look away, if he was going to be able to feel the heat coming up through his legs and the spit on his face, he couldn't then just look away. He forced himself to watch the whites of his eyes turn red, the jerks of his hands lose control and power, and the fish like opening and closing of his mouth begging for air. He held him longer than he probably needed too, after his body went lax and his lips were still and purple, eyes frozen back at his. Another genetically damaged man dead in the wrong side of Milwaukee.

Rafael was standing ten feet back, approaching slowly. "Four?" He called, cautious.

Four spun around, ready to protect himself again. But Rafael wasn't an enemy, he was a horrified, terrified friend staring back at him. Four looked back and what he'd done and fell back onto his hands in the wet dirt.

"What happened?" Rafael asked, kicking the knife, covered in blood away from him, just in case.

"He came at me. With the knife." Then he felt a sting in his side and reached down to feel the slice across his hip. "He got me a couple times." He assessed it as just a graze, much like his arm.

"He's dead." Rafael checked the body for a pulse, "Oh my God. He already feels so cold." he looked startled at the evaluation. But without a beating heart the blood was already pooling away from his skin.

Four looked him up and down, realizing this must be what a normal person looks like the first time they see something so violent. "Yeah, he's dead." He admitted.

"We have to get rid of the body." This surprised Four, "No one's going to bury him, and we cant let him sit here and rot." He helped Four deposit him in the river, another body lost to the cold current.

The final blow in his optimistic mission came just after Rud's disappearance stopped being murmured as another attack, just over three days. Four cautioned his disrespectful mind when he thought a day was too much to give to scum like Rud.

{}

"Four." Matilda called, the last day of a negotiation that would supplement the rent collections for additional food supplies.

He followed her into the doorway to a closet, but not inside, defensively wrapping his arms around himself. "I thought I was clear, I won't do this anymore." He says with a bored sigh. He hadn't really dealt with the indignant emotions her lying brought up inside him, especially now amplified by his other poor judgments. She wiped away a tear and avoided looking at him. Immediately, he softened, "What's wrong?"

"I'm pregnant, and it might be yours." She whispered.

He felt something he hadn't felt as deep since exchanging fire with the Erudite, panic, pure panic. "What do you mean might? We used condoms." he asked in a hushed, harsh voice, stepping closer and shutting the door to keep it private.

"So did me and my husband." She hissed back, obviously not pleased with his defensive response. "My husband's black." She pursed her lips and waited for him to catch up. When his face didn't change she helped him, "If this baby is even a shade lighter than me, I'm on the street." She said it like it should be obvious.

He felt like all the air was knocked out of him, thinking quickly was impossible. "If it's mine, I'll take care of you." He offered, and he meant it.

"I want to take care of it now." The meaning of this phrase was not something he'd heard, apparent confusion in his head tilt, "I want an abortion," she spelled out, "I can't take the risk. But I can't afford it with just my money. He'll find out if I take anything from the account, he'll kill me." She swallowed, "I need the rest from you."

"I um, you want to kill it?" Thoughts dozens of thoughts flowed out so he couldn't breathe in and he started to feel light headed. Anger and rage had been his dominant emotions for months, this new uneasiness was as foreign as the concept of children. This was not the plan, he was going to work hard and save money and go back to Chicago. That was the plan he never let himself admit it before, but that was the plan.

This, Matilda, Milwaukee was just supposed to be fun, a distraction, a way to forget, to be someone else for a little while. Maybe that's why each walk home after an evening tryst felt like a thousand paper cuts in his lungs. He needed to process faster, to decide faster. So he focused. If he said no, she would have a baby and that baby could be his, or it could be someone else's. If he said yes, she would terminate something that he didn't really know could be terminated and that felt like... indescribable.

"I can't lose my husband." She cried, bringing his attention and his arms around him. "I'd die on the streets. This baby will die faster." She said, so affirmative that he sensed she thought it was most likely his.

He worked hard, but he didn't earn much. There was no place for women and babies at the warehouses and he couldn't afford anywhere else. He was a nineteen year old kid playing life like a game. This game was over. "How much?" He hated himself for asking.

"Two-fifty." It was almost all he'd saved. "Will you do it?" she pleaded. This time he just nodded, he couldn't manage to say, yes.

"I'll walk you home." He took her arm, and they walked down the street stopping to withdraw from the bank. The silence between them was welcomed and the parallels to that first walk not lost on either of them. She had dried her tears by the time they reached the start of her street. She walked the rest of the way alone with his money and his regrets. Now he had a new nightmare, another person that he'll never see, never be able to find. He'd climb up on the crane before work started and watch the sun come up unobstructed and found solace in the familiarity of his fear of heights. It distracted him from this new disappointment.

While he was slowly falling apart one guilt riddled nightmare at a time, the strike completed, successfully. The long list of demands was slowly becoming shorter with each negotiation and the compromises were few. But the win felt hallow. Working the soil and laying the layers of road base and surface was honest work with ample time to let his guilty mind drift.

For days, he went back and forth over his decision, questioning if he could get to her and convince her not to. Then he'd remind himself that it was her decision, her future. But that made him angry, why did she have all the control? If she gave him the baby, how would he care for it? Could he keep it alive at the work site, find someone to care for it? Unlikely.

He knew he wasn't in control of his emotions, so he avoided Rafael's prying glances and Liam's paternal worry; depression closed in on him with the thought that if this was starting over, why did feel like everything was crushing in again?


	8. CH8: Fox at the Hen House

AN: Trigger warning – there is sexual content within this chapter which does not model consensual behavior.

Caleb got home from work to start dinner for one. It was one of the late nights he and Tris had talked about in the weekly scheduling meeting, she'd be responsible for herself. He liked the idea that she was responsible for herself sometimes. To him, this was the definition of progress, an independent sister. He was bringing a pan of oil with a sprig of rosemary up to temperature when a quiet rap at the door brought his attention.

They didn't commonly have visitors, the most regular and hardly ever announced being Susan. He felt the giddy delight at the thought that she was stopping by on her way home from some activity. She never went far out of her way, but when she was helping with the former-factionless in the area she like to stop in to see if they needed any help. It was clearly an excuse to see him. Although she never talked much about how she felt, her actions were blatant to him. He was formulating a game plan over his lunch hour to win her over. He could tell she still enjoyed their quiet, calm talks at the table over tea and this formed the cornerstone of his strategy.

"Ah." He exclaimed, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Sorry, didn't Tris tell you about my letter?" Matthew asked, politely. His bag in hand, a wind-swept look to him.

"Oh, she did, but I guess I was expecting someone else is all, someone for me." He opened the door wider, "You are welcome to come in, but Beatrice isn't home, yet." He hung his coat up on the hook by the door. "Would you like to join me for dinner?" He hoped the answer was no.

"You don't wait for her?"

"Not on Tuesdays, she's usually out at Candor. They like to talk a lot."

When Matthew made no move to leave, he pulled out a second chicken breast as a concession, adding salt as the only seasoning. He looked Matthew up and down before pulling out a second can of vegetable from the pantry, assuming he'd eat more than Tris. He also assumed Tris might be home earlier than planned. He'd spent years hiding his irritation in politeness, the only reason he could make dinner without verbal complaint.

"Oh, I didn't realize there was so much involved in distributing supplies these days." Caleb could tell he was hunting, it seemed innocent enough to share.

"It's for her research."

"Eh?"

"Yeah, she's recording the firsthand accounts of the residents of Chicago, got quite a lot of notes and recordings. It's quite impressive what she's managed to collect. I'm surprised she didn't tell you." The meat sizzled when he dropped it into a skillet. He hoped the noise would put him off of the conversation.

"I don't think she likes writing letters." He muses, "They're always a paragraph, to the point, not much flourish."

"So, you're here for what?" Caleb just wanted one night without worrying about his sister. And while he told himself he didn't mind Matthew; he was concerned about his influence over her. He estimated him to be in his mid to late twenties, which bothered him; but it was also this finely tuned social demeanor and how she deferred to his opinions. Matthew was a charmer. He had a snappy statement along with a happy attitude that carried interactions. With Tris coming off of medications, a swing of emotions came with it. He worried about anyone, including Matthew, taking advantage. And this visit felt intrusive, targeted.

"Inter-facility collaboration meetings. We want to make sure that our research isn't overlapping unnecessarily and where parallel experiments are taking place that the results are shared." He said fluidly, like it was rehearsed; it probably was.

"Very logical. Only so many minds between the two places."

"Exactly." Matthew took a seat at the table, relaxed, watching Caleb in the kitchen. "So how is Tris? Candidly. I'm concerned about her given the shortness of her letters."

"Beatrice is doing much better, very encouraging in the last few weeks." He admitted, "I think the routine is helping. The work is keeping her busy, her project is keeping her focused, and I think she's actually trying to process what happened."

"Well all that sounds very positive." He confirmed, "Is she sticking to her medication? It's very important to keep to the schedule."

"She's made some changes." He didn't like talking about her without her there, it was too close to gossip. He'd already said enough.

"That doesn't seem very wise. She's fragile. Maintaining that balance might be the only thing that keeps her sane."

"It's between her and the doctors." Caleb smiled politely, but the word fragile certainly didn't apply to his sister. "It's not our place to contradict someone else's expertise."

"Constructive challenge is how everyone gets better." It was a direct quote from the Erudite initiation speech. He said it like Caleb was derelict in his duty to keep Tris healthy. And at the same time revealing his own agenda to keep her capacities diminished. It wasn't just impolite, it was overstepping the boundaries that Caleb had securely put around his sister.

Just when Caleb was going to get more forceful with a full statement of 'back off,' Tris came through the door with her bag of paper and recording devices. He counted to ten when he turned back to the dinner.

"Oh, hello Matthew!" She exclaimed, "I thought I saw you get off a train today." she dumped her bag roughly on the floor, crossing the room with a big, genuine smile to hug him as he stood. This left Caleb conflicted about his presence. He tried to balance the value of her feeling something sincerely joyfully against the potential for manipulation. There just wasn't enough data to draw conclusions.

"Tris! I am so glad to see you." He squeezed her tight, holding her for a little longer than Caleb thought was appropriate, especially since his presence should dictate some awkwardness. His obnoxious pan clattering accompanied by throat clearing broke Tris away. She encouraged Matthew to join her at the table, sitting across from him, not to his side. The decorum expected in Abnegation.

They had tentative, basic conversation over diner about the new government officials that are cleaning up the Bureau and evaluating a long term plan to integrate Chicago. They talked about Matthew's new role, where he saw the greatest advantages between the sites. Caleb suddenly understood the sideways glances between Beatrice and Robert at the lunch table at school. It was uncomfortable to watch the Abnegation style of flirting taking place over chicken and vegetables.

"Well, I have the dishes." Tris started to clear the plates, "Caleb, don't you have a team meeting back at the lab tonight?" She asked. He looked back confused, then realized she was asking him to leave.

"Yeah, um, I do. Thanks for the reminder. I'll just grab my things and leave in a few." He didn't really want to leave them alone, but he felt silly about it given the facts. They had been alone dozens of times in the Bureau without any ill event. So he gathered his items, determining that he would pay Susan a visit in the Abnegation sector of the city and set up stage one of his courtship plan.

"So, have you thought about my proposal?" Matthew asked, leaning against the counter next to her.

"Yes."

"And?"

"And, okay." She blushed, "But, I'm sure there are better people to give you a tour. And the weather would be nicer in the spring." She trailed off.

"But you're the only one that I want. I don't know if I can wait until spring." He set the plates in the sink, "These will still be here when we get back." He dried her hands.

She leaned into his touch, suddenly conscious of her own desire to be held, comforted. And he put his lips to her temple, her hands snaking around his waist, his around her shoulders. She let him hold her. He was so warm. The compression of that embrace stopped all the chatter in her mind; the nervous energy disappeared. Tobias had been the last one to hold her like this, just hold, not talking, not expecting anything more than what it was. She was lonely for this down to the depths of her soul.

He broke the moment, his lips were falling down her hairline, to her ear, then her cheek, until his hands cupped her chin bringing her lips to his. The immediate comparisons were made: his lips were thinner, rough, chapped by the cold; his fingers soft, without callouses; he wasn't as tall or as broad in the shoulders; his hair was long and tickled her cheek. She had to push those thoughts from her mind to focus on what was happening right in front of her as the touch between them became more than comfort, it was a need.

He put his hands down on her waist and pushed her against the counter, then aggressively gripped her thighs to prop her up to sit more level with him. She lost all responsibility for what her hands did next. One tangled in his hair, more than a handful to grab a hold of; the other unbuttoned this shirt starting at the collar. She could tell the second that he realized what she'd done, as his lips left hers dragging over her neck, pulling a throaty moan with them. His hands explored her body, threading up under her shirt. When she had all the buttons undone on his top, he carried her into her bedroom.

He sat her down on the bed, she slithered backwards to the headboard. He pursued, pulling at her pants as she went. He unbuttoned his fly, pulled his down and kicked them off the bed. He didn't ask. He didn't wait for her to pause or second guess. He put his fingers under her panties and pulled on them. He kissed just above the fabric all the way down her leg to her ankle. He stared down at her, half exposed, before collapsing on top of her, taking possession.

She suddenly felt a panic as the reality of his knees roughly pushing between hers over took the chemicals that dimmed her fear to the background. A man was on top of her. She was entirely vulnerable to him, then he was inside her. The pinch of her inexperience was much less than her first time, but still tender, effectively breaking the spell. She wasn't overtaken by impulse anymore as she registered her compromising position. She pushed up on his chest, but he didn't budge.

"Stop." She asked, "Please, stop." He kept thrusting, working himself deeper into her until there wasn't any space between them. Her breathing became hampered by the pressure of his weight against her ribs. She pushed again, "Stop. Matthew."

He paused, with an agitated groan, "Are you okay?" He kissed her temple quickly and mechanically, she could feel his hips moving just slightly.

"Stop, we should be using protection." She pushed him again, this time using her knuckles against his hip bone, getting an irritated response. He ran her hands up from his hips to above her head then locked his fingers between hers. Her instincts told her to struggle, but her experience in her landscape helped her make a decision to stay still.

"It's okay." He smiled against her ear. "It's okay. I'll pull out, I promise." He assured, slipping back in a millimeter at a time.

"Will that work?" Tugging to releaser her hands, she tried to remember health class, but she had assumed the expected Abnegation position of face red, diverted politely and missed the entire class. It didn't seem right. "I think we should use a condom." She stated as calmly as possible, but he was already pushing down on her hands, eagerly restarting his rhythm. She pulled in short jerks, trying to get free, each pull escalating towards panic until he released her hands. She took deep breaths while he kissed her neck holding her hips in place.

"You feel so good." He gasped, "Trust me, it'll be okay. Just trust me." Having her hands free made her feel a little better. She wanted to trust him, she had already trusted him. Despite her misgivings, she deferred to his experience reluctantly choosing to ignore her anxiety. Letting him do what he wanted was easier than fighting. It started to feel like he was pulling small tears into her as she ran out of lubrication, the repetitive penetration doing nothing to keep her stimulated. But he cooed into her ear accelerating, her panic growing praying she could trust him until he finally spilled out onto the sheets.

He flopped off of her, arms and legs sprawled out. "That was amazing." He sighed, rubbing his chest and arms. He caught his breath slowly and with relief. She took little gulps to calm her nerves, as she ran thought what had just happened. "I'm so glad we could just be together, you know without all the dancing around of dating. I feel so relaxed around you, like you really know me."

And that should have felt good, to have someone feel that way about her, but no words could make her feel anything other than confused and slightly sick. She told herself, it was her fault for not knowing what to do.

She felt like crying, but instead she excused herself to clean up in the bathroom, grabbing pajama bottoms on the way. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was messy, so she combed it. Her mouth felt acrid and dirty, so she brushed her teeth. Her inner thighs felt moist and used. She found a towel from the morning to freshen up as much as possible. Then pulled on the bottoms.

Christina had once told her that it took practice to get good at sex. She concluded that to be the source of the hollow feeling of being unsatisfied; her lack of practice. She washed her face before she returned to her room where Matthew was buttoning up, preparing to leave.

"I have an early meeting in the morning, Johanna set me up with a room over in the government offices. I'd really like it if you could come by tomorrow, maybe we can take that tour. Or, you know, have some more fun." He kissed her forehead and rubbed her arms quickly like she was cold, instead leaving her with a chill up her spine.

"Yeah, I'll try to stop by." She said automatically. She was side struck by his sudden departure. He didn't even hug her. He didn't say anything nice to her. It felt too casual given the gravity of their contact. But she let him go without expressing her disappointment. She sank into the chair at the kitchen table before being overcome by regret.

Nothing had happened the way she thought. She'd assumed they would have dinner go for a walk around the city and part ways in the lobby of her building, maybe at her door. If she thought anything would happen, she would have been better prepared. She'd have stopped at the dispenser in the health clinic after her last appointment, or asked about protecting herself.

Thinking about the stain on her sheets, she wanted to clean and be clean. She patiently finished the dishes so that Caleb wouldn't suspect anything, then pulled her sheets into the washing machine before getting into a shower made cold by not enough hot water for both.

Caleb was in the kitchen reading when she went to retrieve her bedding. One look, just a look of acknowledgment, she started to turn red and couldn't keep the tears from coming down her face.

"Beatrice? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She pushed past him to pushed the wet linens into the dryer. Caleb's eyes went back and forth between the sheets and her, questioning with raised eyebrows. "Nothing." She slammed the door when she rushed back into her room. She cried on the edge of her bed, face in her palms. He knocked, she called "Go away." He entered anyways.

"Beatrice, what happened?" He looked at the striped bed, then sighed, "Did he um, did you sleep together?" His face mirrored hers, determined not to make eye contact. She didn't answer she just cried. "Did he force you?"

"No." She croaked. "He didn't make me." Even though that felt like a lie.

"Then, why are you crying?"

"I can't believe we're talking about this." She turned away from him, wiping her eyes.

"You know, it's perfectly natural. Healthy bodies have a natural drive to reproduce resulting in feelings..." He tried to be as clinical as he could, she just huffed in embarrassment, "I'm trying to say, is that all that Abnegation crap about the purpose of touch is a layering of cultural norms due to the inherent risks with promiscuous sex." Again another huff, "Just use protection. That's what Erudite says." He shrugged, "Can't imagine Dauntless to be any different." But he was still helpless for ways to help her. "I don't judge you for your choices about your body." He added for good measure.

She sniffled and wiped her eyes, "Thanks for not being disappointed."

"Yeah." He assured, stepping out back into the common space. She barely made it to the click of her door before bursting into a sob remembering the middle ground Tobias had talked about, between marriage and reckless abandon. And tonight was as far to reckless as she could imagine in the moment.

She couldn't bring herself to make the trip the next day. She received a letter a week later declaring his affections for her and announcing his next visit. She had a week to think about what she'd done. And she bobbled back and forth between declaring herself adult enough, passing it off as how things should be, and hating herself for being so rash. She decided she wouldn't respond. She wouldn't see him again.

{}

Unfortunately, she ran into him in the hallway as he was heading into Johanna's office and Tris was leaving with her boss. Again, he surprised her with the ease in which he greeted her, like he didn't sense her demeanor. He whispered a time and his room number in her ear.

She told herself she'd avoid him; yet, she found herself just outside the room tucked back in the government building next to Candor, a few flights up from her own office. She felt cheap and foolish, a roll of condoms freshly plucked from the medical center in her bag, although she had no intention of having sex. She came to talk, to discuss what she wanted from the relationship, if that's what it was. She firmly told herself she'd postpone being intimate again until it was clear. She knocked and immediately heard the shuffle behind it.

"Tris." He smiled, leaning forward to kiss her lips, pulling her inside in a smooth motion. Everything felt so awkward to her, made even more so by how confident he was with his touches and his words. Before she could examine or discuss, he had her on the bed, discarding her clothes. She put her hand over his mouth just as he was pulling his boxers off.

"Condom." She squeaked. "In my bag." If this was going to happen, she was going to protect herself.

"Okay," He smiled, stepping over to her bag to produce the requested ribbon.

She hadn't really looked at him before, not in that way. He was thin. His physique was one of disuse and neglect. Cultivated by hours in the lab or behind the desk, the most vigorous activity of walking room to room. And in comparison to the multitudes of naked boys she'd seen in initiation, he didn't have the defined abdominal muscles or capable arms that she'd come to expect. But he did have a boyish grin as he looked at her that told her he was excited to be with her. And she told herself that that was enough.

He crawled back on top of her, pulling at her shirt exposing her. His eyes flickered over her. A thought briefly crossed his face but was swiftly covered up by him kissing her and rolling the condom on. This time felt better, not painful or overly uncomfortable. And towards the end she even felt a tingling pleasure that made her want him to keep going past his capabilities.

He rolled off of her, melting into the bed. She felt the flush start to subside from her chest and neck. Then rolled over onto her side to see him lying with his eyes closed. He chuckled a little smile picking at the edges of his lips. He peaked out of the corner of his sleepy eyelids. Tris thought he looked sweet, even adorable in this position. Maybe it was okay, to just let this happen, not to over analyze or over prescribe. Then he sighed a heavy sigh.

"What?" She asked, putting her hand on his chest letting her head down next to his shoulder.

"I was just wondering if there was something we could do about your scars. You know, decrease the pigment contrast or make them smoother. They're just awful to look at, what a shame."

She looked down at the red lines that crossed her chest and torso. The most prominent marking a life-threatening exit wound and the following reconstruction just above her heart, slicing her bottom raven in two. She was not okay. She was not ready to have her survival become her enemy. She rolled off the bed finding her shirt first, then her underwear, pants, socks, collecting each article. She couldn't get dressed fast enough to remove herself from his presence.

"Hey, you can stay the night if you want." He called, from the bed, "I don't leave until tomorrow afternoon." It was clear that he didn't understand, but she didn't have the will to explain.

"I'd rather be anywhere else." She kept her face away from him so he couldn't see the water bubbling on the rim of her eyes. She only stopped to put on her coat when she got in the elevator.

It was a ten minute, cold walk down the street to the front doors of her building. Her tears had frozen on her cheeks in the subzero air, but she hadn't calmed all the thoughts. She looked up, the building had only been partially refinished and the lights were on only up half the building. She took the elevator up to the eleventh floor, the last floor that would operate. Then she walked to the stairwell and climbed the remaining seven flights to the little door at the top.

The view from the top of the Hancock Building was better, less obscured by the other buildings, but the feeling of being two steps from flying was still the same. She unbuttoned her jacket to release the heat after the climb. The wind whipped through the layers in a familiar and unnerving way. She recalled being in Four's landscape high above the street. And her heart hurt fresh and fearsome. She felt unworthy before; she was redefining that feeling now. She let out a silent prayer for him to be happy, healthy, and moving on. Especially to be moving on.

And for two seconds she thought about dropping her legs over the edge. Because she'd promised to live a good life, and it felt like it would never be good again.

She didn't answer Matthew's next letter, and Caleb didn't press.


	9. CH9: Last Straw

Another letter from Christina, this one with a news paper clipping a circle around his face. He didn't realize anyone took a picture that day at the work office, or that anyone outside of the city was even interested. She asked if it was him, insisting that if it was, he should find a shower somewhere to clean up. He laughed a little, missing honest humor.

She was now in charge of the housing units for the transient center, a new department that focused on getting people into and out of the Bureau, which was becoming a way station. She sounded satisfied with the position, if not the bureaucracy. She also included a short statement, 'Let me know if you want to hear about Tris, or not. I'm avoiding it for now. She's OK, don't freak.'

His letter was pretty short, he wasn't in the mood to rehash anything, mainly just confirming that he'd been involved in the labor negotiations. That he was showering regularly although avoiding the unnecessary costs of scissors and razors. He gave into the homesickness for a sentence to ask about jobs in Chicago. Questioning if there was any room for a washed up Dauntless leader. At the end of his reply, he couldn't stop himself from asking to be told if anything drastic happened to Tris.

Friday, Rafael collected him on his way out to the bar. They threw darts and won some money. Four laughed at his bad jokes and forgot for a few hours. He closed his tab feeling ambivalent, which was better than depressed. But he knew if he stayed too long he'd be forced to watch the parade of prostitutes and wanted to avoid the temptation. On his way out, Steven joined him. He always preferred to walk with Four when it was dark and his company wasn't unwanted.

March had broken the cold with a sunny day in the fifties. The streets were swampy and filled with slush. The sound of the water melting from the ice splashed from brick building to cavernous warehouse, adding a sense of privacy while drowning out their innocuous conversation. The weather warming had called bunches of men – three, four at a time – to mill around outside the entrances, mostly joking and sharing cigarettes.

So it didn't occur to Four when they rounded the corner that the five men leaned against the wall were anything other than ordinary. His assessment changed when they fell silent and spread themselves single file out of the walk way, out of place. Four prepared himself in case it escalated.

"Is that him?" One commented, just loud enough for Four to hear him over the trickle.

"Yeah, that's him." A broad shouldered man with coal-colored skin confirmed.

Instinctively, Four put himself in front of Steven, curling his hands into fists. Steven pulled on his coat sleeve to guide him across the street building a buffer between. They mirrored them, walking diagonally to cut them off. Four tested his ankle, still sore and untrustworthy.

"We're not carrying any money." Steven commented, his hands raised.

"We're not here for money." The man spit on the ground, "I'm here to for him." He pointed.

"Steven, run. I'll be OK, get out of here." He made his voice as assuring as possible, flexing his core and rolling his fists. There wasn't any way he'd come out on top by himself, but protecting Steven would be a distraction.

Steven looked him over then back to the five men, "I'll get some guys." Four bounced in his boots to remove as much stiffness as possible while testing the traction in the slush. Steven took off down the alley as fast as his legs could carry. The men let him go.

"You know why I'm here?" The man asked. His anger was written into his posture and jutting chin, but that wasn't what ushered the dread into his stomach. It was how he was very much in control of himself, not likely to make an emotional error. It was difficult to size him up under the coats, outside of being tall and with a good reach. The other four that started to circle around the sides. Four didn't even need to glanced around, this wasn't a good place for a fight.

His best chance was to sprint out of the intersection to where he could at least put his back to the wall. A small measure that could limit their access, but then he'd be trapped if they had the upper hand. The alternative would give him exit opportunities, if he could out run them. He had to take his chances with his back to the wall, the quick dash barely giving him the distance to prepare.

The fists came fast without hesitation and hard to block without much light. He just had to absorb and react. He shuffled and moved forward and back to throw them off. His ankle didn't fail him until the fourth kicked his legs out and he was pinned down on the ground for a swift kick to his gut. He pressure of their bodies ground him into the pebbles of the street with each struggling thrash of his limbs.

"You got a piece of mine." The man smiled like hurting him would be as satisfying as scratching an itch. A bulky and long handled implement dangled from one of his hands. It was too dark to tell what it was, but it wasn't for tickling. "I'm gonna get a piece of you." The fast association between the object and his words made Four panic, unable to gain an inch.

The one holding his right arm pinned his forearm to the ground with his knee, grinding loose gravel into his skin while blocking his view with his coat tails. His jacket smelled like smoke and exhaust fumes. Four almost let the pleading in his head pass his lips when he felt cold fingers spread his digits out of a fist and pull his little finger away from the others. He knew the next motion was coming, but that wasn't enough to brace him for the pain from the pop. He couldn't contain the gasping groan.

The cold metal smelled of oil and grime when it was raked across the skin of his face. All he could focus on was the toothy grin which standing out like an apparition against the man's dark face. Sickness filled his body and bubbled up his throat. He swallowed between his shallow breaths, trying to collect enough will to pull himself out from under the mass that pinned him.

Then he saw the outline, bolt cutters. If he thought it would have done any good, he would have given in and shouted, called into the night. He would have sought help from murderers, if only to avoid mutilation at the hands of a jilted husband. But dozens died on these streets calling out for no one, and he wouldn't give this man the satisfaction.

In what was too simple of a motion, he felt the cutters surround his throbbing finger, coming to absorb what was about to happen. He stayed his nerves, biting his lip to hold it all in. The edge pinched his skin, then slowly compress so he could feel the cracks form before the break. He couldn't hear the sound of the slice over the ringing in his ears.

"Don't fuck around with married women." One last message, as they let him up only to kick him three times in the torso and stomach. They seemingly disappeared, or he blacked out.

He pulled his hand in, the blood slippery, warm and staining his shirt. Water from the gutter flushed his mouth as he rocked back and forth waiting for the sting to subside. He managed to push himself onto the curb, sliding back into the wall. His finger laid in a ring of light, pink in contrast to the dirty gray of the sidewalk. He felt like he was floating, staring at someone else's appendage in a dream. Then a simple thought with a daunting execution, he needed to get back to the camp. The disconnected feeling followed him back to the ground when he failed to stand. Shock was setting in and even thought he could label it, it didn't make him more able.

A mob of arms and hands surrounded him to pull him up and into a truck he never heard arrive. He didn't even register their words as English, just noise. They deposited him back in the warehouse and a few faceless hands held pressure on the bleeding while they pulled together blankets and heaters to warm him.

"Is he cut anywhere else?" Someone called, the first coherent phrase he understood.

They were carefully removing his wet clothes, like they were searching a deadman for valuables. It didn't fully make sense to Four, why in this unprincipled camp, these men were taking care of him.

"That's some tattoo." Rafael commented with a whistle. He was the first face he recognized, first voice. Time was starting to come back together with the images his eyes were registering.

He came out of shock like he woke from nightmares: all at once and full of panic. A man on the run from Indianapolis was performing his duties as the camp medic. Inspecting and cleaning the stump, best he could. Which was exactly the first thing he registered when he came around: the bloody stub. It was hard at first to think that what he was seeing was real: the sight of a protruding bone from what was left of his knuckle. Fortunately for the medic, Rafael had noticed him coming around and had put all his weight on his arm to hold it still.

"Easy." The medic warned, "Just cleaning it up a little." He commented. "You got money for a doctor?"

Four had cleaned out his account for Matilda, he shook his head. There wasn't any anesthetic or pain killers, just plentiful amount of onlookers and Rafael's insistence that he needed to breath.

He couldn't sleep, the throbbing too much. He paced back and forth with his hand held up above his heart feeling feverish, gagging at the smell of his own blood. The only thing he could think of was Janice the Dauntless nurse and how much he wished the Erudite doctors were a train away. Erudite, Cara would know what to do, how to make it stop throbbing. Christina had included a telephone exchange on her last letter, buried in his ruck sack under his bunk. He danced side to side while he fed the machine on the corner from a sock full of coins. Shock waves radiated through his spine and down into his groin and thighs before coming back up to his extremities.

"Hello?" She answered, groggy. He felt bad for the time of morning.

"Hey, it's Four. I'm trying to get a hold of Cara, do you know if she has a telephone number?" He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice even.

"Four? Yeah, good to hear from you. How are you?"

"In a hurry, Christina." He bit his lip, reminding himself to be kinder if he wanted her to cooperate, "I need to talk to Cara."

"What happened?"

"Listen, do you have her number or not?" He snapped, then couldn't help but groan.

"Yeah, yeah, I've got it, hold on." He could tell she was getting pissed with him. "325-69-2."

"Thanks, bye." He fed the machine, stole some quick breaths and dialed before he could forget the digits.

"Hello?" She was oddly awake for what had become early morning.

"It's Four. I need your help, not much time. A guy lost a finger." He lied, "What do I do to keep it from bleeding out or getting infected?" He rushed it out, then stifled a groan as he shuffled. Rafael was watching a few feet away, taking the sock he clutched to his chest and holding it for him.

"Oh, a, hey Four, how'd he lose it?"

"Pinched it off in some equipment." He offered, hoping to move it along.

"Take him to a hospital." she dismissed.

"He doesn't have the money for it, doctors cost a lot here."

"Um, I guess, wash it with boiled water, change the bandages regularly and get a hold of some antibiotics if it gets red or pussy." She offered. "If you can, get him to a doctor." She urged.

"Alright, there's no pain pills, what can I do?" He tried to sound like he wasn't begging.

"Keep it elevated, try some ice to numb it. That's about all there is without a pharmacy." She said curtly. "Which finger?"

"Small one." He groaned for a second as a sharp spark sprang up his forearm.

"Oh, jeeze Four. What were you doing?"

"Never mind." He groaned, "Thanks for your help."

"You're at high risk for a bone infection, keep an eye on it and keep it clean. If you can't get it fixed there, head to the Bureau, they'll treat anyone that comes in."

"Yeah, thanks for the help." He set the phone back on the receiver and paced around the building waiting for the pain to ease. Rafael walked with him, sharing in his distress until he couldn't stand his presence and sent him back to bed.

Steven and the other leaders assumed it was an attack due to the negotiations, another scare tactic. They got thoroughly upset when Four refused to come forward and file a report. But he didn't want to have to lie, be caught in a lie, and he felt like he sort of deserved it for killing the baby, for sleeping with a married woman, for running away from his problems in Chicago, for the body count that weighed on his dreams. Yeah, that seemed to demand at least a finger.

{}

He was wallowing, again, losing himself in the pain and telling himself he deserved it. He forced himself to visualize each reason – the baby, Matilda, Tris, Uriah, the Dauntless traitor at Amity, the glassy eyes of Rud. He'd passed on the bar, again, the impulse to suffer greater than the one to kill the pain.

A group of kids were running down the street shrieking, calling to each other about a dare, reminding him of Zeke and his friends. He didn't belong here anymore now than he did months earlier. His resolve to stay starting to crack. Rafael paused when he saw him outside the door. He watched Four alternate between tucking his hand up against his chest and holding it out in the cool breeze. The clear signs of infection had been wearing on his conscious all week.

"I'm not going to pretend to know you well, but you've been pretty quiet for the last few weeks, even before your hand. Are you okay?"

He nodded, because if he didn't then that would be defeat. But he couldn't control the expression on his normally stoic face.

"I'm thinking about going back, are you thinking about going back?" Rafael offered.

Four was overcome by the feeling of defeat. Like he wasn't strong enough, would never be strong enough to turn Milwaukee into a refuge. He logically knew that his finger was infecting his body, without help, it could kill him; irrationally, he considered if that was the conclusion he should embrace. Suicide was selfish, cowardly, he wasn't brave enough to cross that line; but if sickness took him – he didn't finish the thought. Second only to his resignation was the sullen urge to be some place familiar, or specifically to be where he can pretend Milwaukee never happened.

"You know, that hand doesn't look too good. Didn't your friend say they'd treat you for free in the Bureau?"

"Yeah. Can't seem to get a hold of any antibiotics " He admitted, although he'd only tried once. He'd always had a difficult time admitting when he needed help, "Can't really go backwards to move forward, right?" Then he let his mind drift to another starting point, Indianapolis. Maybe he could start fresh, again, for real.

"What if going back is moving forward." Rafael smiled, pressing his tactic further "I think I'm going to go. I mean, the money's OK here, the food's not awful anymore, but there's something about it that doesn't feel right, like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. But I can't remember where I'm supposed to be. You ever feel like that?"

"No, I know where I should be. I just can't be there." He added, shouldn't, in his mind.

"If I go back, would you want to, too?" he asked. "I mean, we started this together. And you'll lose your whole hand if that goes much longer."

"I'll think about it." But the answer was yes, the hurt was begging for something familiar to sooth it. And he was done lying to himself about this being the new life he wanted.


	10. CH10: Perspective

Amar pulled up in a blue truck with side panels that have rusted through. Something he'd gotten from the outside for certain. The door popped open when she approached. "Are you ready?" Amar asked, as Tris stepped up.

"Yeah. Thanks for taking me." She wasn't actually happy about it. The tension from their last exchange at the table was still sitting just below the surface. Regardless of the anxiety, she had few options on short notice.

"I'm bringing back supplies anyways." He shrugged, "Makes for a less lonely drive." He put the truck in gear. Most of his focus went to the navigation back to the main road to the Amity gate. "So, what's this surgery?" He asked, "If I can pry."

"Oh, um, the bullet that got left inside has moved. So it's getting close to my Aorta. The main artery from my heart. They said I need to go get it out now or it could keep moving and I would eventually rupture and bleed out." The truck heater wasn't keeping up with the early morning chill, she paused to shift her scarf tighter around her neck. "And if I don't die on the table, they'll work on my shoulder. Some muscles aren't attaching to the plates right. Erudite thought the Bureau had the better equipment." He was struck a little by how flat her tone sounded and wasn't sure if her surgery was risky or if she still didn't care if she died.

"Nothing simple with you, is it?" He tried to cover his concern with a laugh.

"Nope. What supplies are you getting?" she asked out of politeness not interest.

"Clothes, warm, thick clothes. And black dye. It's the only way I can convince them to button up." He shook his head, "Meat heads." Tris laughed. "I've been doing a lot of trips back and forth. Next week, I'll be back up with some supplies from Amity to the Bureau."

"Didn't know we had enough to share."

"Dead people don't eat." He reminded her. "And there are a lot of people leaving the city, more than coming in right now."

They passed out of the densely packed buildings quietly. And Tris was prepared to let herself drift away for the entire drive, but Amar had her captive.

"So, what happened between you and Four?" Straight to the point. She cursed herself, she was right to think he agreed to easily to shuttling her.

"Nothing." she glared at him.

"Bullshit." He looked more at her than she thought he should, given the road conditions were worsening.

"I'll phrase it differently, none of your damn business."

"Let me lay it out for you." He got stern. She rolled her eyes, preparing for what she assumed would be the same lecture as Christina about love and responsibility and accepting what's given. But Amar knew better than to wear the role of the best friend. "Four has never felt good enough for anyone or anything. He's unstable, suspicious, violent. It took a lot to earn his trust, his respect, but I have never been able to make him feel like he was worth the attention. I went through a lot of shit trying to clean up his act and get him to calm down, protect himself, fit in."

Tris swallowed and fought the urge to distract herself with the window crank. Tobias was many things: proud, confident, methodical, patient; he wasn't any of the things Amar described, not to her. The contradiction made her equally suspect Amar of lying and her relationship of being based on a lie.

"Then you come along and in just a matter of weeks you flipped him upside down. You made him want to be more, want to be worth it."

She chewed her lip. "I didn't do anything."

"You split your hand and dropped your blood, and that decision effects more than you." He pressed on a little kinder, "There's a lot you don't know about Four, but what you should know is that he's like a planet. He needs a sun to keep him from drifting off. And right now, he's drifting, God knows where, doing God knows what." He paused, "And for all I know, it's undoing all that work I put in, certainly all the influence you had." He paused like he thought better of continuing, but did, "Tobias means a lot to me, to a lot of people. So, humor me, what the hell did he do to piss you off?"

"He would have left eventually. It seemed easier to pick when." She avoided the subject and skipped straight to concession. "It's not my most defensible decision."

"What did you do?" He pried, getting exasperated. But she refused to say anything choosing to stare out the window and wiggle her toes to keep them warm.

"Fucking Stiffs! You can't just go around assuming that you know best for everyone." He sounded exhausted, not angry. "A partnership takes two people, not one. You can't make unilateral decisions. Whatever the Hell you did, it's up to him to tell you if it's bad enough. And it's unfair to keep him from being mad at you for the right reasons. You two are made for each other." He spit with a little disgust, "He's out there thinking he's got to punish himself so he can feel like he deserves to breath and you're doing the same damn thing. If you'd just take two seconds to be there for each other, life would be a lot easier."

He let the silence settle between them, feeling satisfied in his due diligence on behalf of his pupil and friend, but also for his selfish sense of . But also that maybe, just maybe he'd helped her.

By the time they were through the city gates inching out into the space between, it was becoming a comfortable silence. For all the unsolicited advice, it was also obvious why Four had gravitated to him. He told it like he found it, without apology and no ulterior motive than to make people better than when he found them. Tris also understood that the guilt she felt as a result could make her better.

"So, what do you think?" He finally asked, the miles running out. His practiced method of planting the seed and coming back to cultivate somewhat expedited by the limited commute, he doubted the efficacy.

She thought many things, most of them about how bad things went with Matthew and how avoidable if she'd just talked to Four. Everything Amar had said made her feel like a fool for not seeing it for herself. Everything he said made her feel like a child making rash decisions and expecting to avoid the consequences.

"I know it was a mistake." She commented, "But there's nothing I can do. He's gone and there's a big part of me that thinks that's the best thing for him. I'm a mess."

"He's a mess."

"You've talked to him?"

"I know him." He corrected, "He's never far from being a mess."

"So, what was he like when he first transferred?" The masochistic side of her wanted to know the potential results of her mistake, to feel the weight of it.

"Typical for a sixteen-year-old kid in a lot of ways, but quicker to fight than anyone I'd ever met. I think I spent at least one day a week for months in Max's office trying to justify why they shouldn't throw him out."

Just in her short time in Dauntless, she knew fights were common and usually expected. She didn't realize too many would result in becoming factionless. "What would he fight about?"

"Pride, mostly. Always felt like he had something to prove, never backed down, never walked away. It's why I got Zeke involved."

"I thought they were friends from initiation."

"Four might say they were, but I think at the time there were only two type of people to him: enemies and not-as-bad enemies." He shrugged. "Zeke's dad had just died and he was struggling himself, so I gave him Four as a special project. He spent a lot of time making Four fit in." He laughed, "Poor Zeke, should get a medal. There were so many fights, and he just didn't come out on top very often. But he did break Four's ribs once. That was another pain in the ass conversation with Max." She found herself smiling, trying to imagine a more reckless version of the instructor she'd met.

"Those boys, they got in a lot of trouble. They had a curfew, laundry shifts, kitchen duty, pit cleaning. Eventually, I stopped getting called into Max's office about his violent behavior and just about his potential." He sighed. "He calmed down a lot when Ryana got killed, you know, for being Divergent."

"What else?" Hearing how little she knew made it feel like one of her history sessions, Amar just another subject with a loved one to remember.

Amar chuckled, "He was a skinny little shit." she laughed unbelieving, "From the time he got there to just around the time I left he grew close to six inches got strong. He couldn't have been much more that 130 wet when he transferred. But scrappy and determined and he could take a hit. He won mostly because of being fast and smart. And a few times just because he could outlast them."

"I can't imagine him as small." she commented.

"Yeah, late bloomer. I guess, you two didn't really get to know each other well." He commented, "Can't imagine you had time."

"No, we didn't."

"Well, maybe you can fix that when he comes back."

"He's not coming back."

Amar sighed, convinced otherwise. "What if he did?"

"He wouldn't give me two thoughts." She snorted.

"Don't be dense."

"He wouldn't." she shifted uncomfortably, "I'm weak, I can't function without pills six times a day. And I can't even be trusted to live on my own." She added softly, "That's not who he loved."

"Bullshit, stiff." He spat. "Stop making other people's decisions. If that man comes back and finds you, you tell him the truth. What ever it was that made you do what you did. You tell him. And what ever you feel, you tell him that, too. And let him make up his own mind, you make up yours and let the cards fall where they may."

They were in view of the facility.

"Thanks Amar." she whispered, "I don't know why I didn't just hire you as my therapist." She laughed.

"Just don't fuck it up." He reached over and squeezed her hand. "If there's a second chance, make it count."

{}

Christina was waiting for her just inside the door, pacing. She'd probably been there most of the day, waiting. Amar let her out with a quick good luck. And She was immediately covered in her friends open arms. She realized Christina hadn't even bothered with a coat, she was so excited to see her.

"Oh my God! It's been months!" She shouted and looked at her. "Your hair is so long, and look at your coat, that's cute." She smiled, "Still avoiding the eyeliner, but that's okay." She pulled her inside. "I'm so glad you're here, I'm surrounded by boys!"

"I've missed you too." She followed her, arm locked with her's. "I didn't realize you would ever get tired of the boys."

"There's only so many worth talking to." She pointed out, "Come on, I have everything ready in my apartment for you."

"I think they're probably going to keep me in the hospital, you know for a while."

"Yeah, but your surgery is tomorrow and then maybe you'll stay a few days before you go back?" She asked.

"Yeah, maybe." She shrugged, "It's not like we haven't taken care of most of the supply requests already."

"Matthew's excited to see you." Christina smiled genuinely.

"I don't want to see him." Tris replied flatly.

"See, girl talk. It's necessary." She unlocked her door and let her friend step in. "So what happened with Matthew? He came back saying you two had a great time. That everything was awesome. He really enjoyed the city."

"I'm sure that's exactly what he thinks." Tris set her stuff by the couch and Christina started to make tea. "It was awful, just a mistake." She shook her head.

"What about it was so bad?" Tris shook her head, looking at her hands. Christina's brow furrowed. "So, tell me about it. It'll make you feel better." Tris turned bright red, and that was all Christina needed to sit next to her and put her arm around her. "So you slept together."

"That's all he wanted. Just sex." She folded her arms and looked at the table, wanting to disappear. Even thought Christina was her closest confidant, there were limits to her comfort in any relationship.

"Was it your first time?" Christina asked, carefully, knowing the alternative might be touchy.

"It'll be the last." it was a typical non-answer when she crossed the subject.

"Don't say that." She moaned, "Sex is amazing. It just takes some time to get good at it. And having the right partner is really important."

"Yeah, apparently." She chewed her lip.

"So, what made it so bad?"

"Oh, I'm not going to." she refused, unsure.

"He's tiny right? I mean, I always thought, 'that guy has a tiny dick.'" She tried to cheer her up and loosen her lips.

She did laugh, "I don't really have comparisons." she blushed, "He's definitely not - in shape." she bashfully admitted.

"Oh, yeah, weak, pasty?"

"Yeah." she confirmed with a chuckle.

"The worst! Live and learn." Christina always could say something to cheer her up. "But, I mean, bad sex isn't a reason for walking away from a good guy. Maybe you just need to tell him that you want to do more than rumple the sheets." she half smiled, but when Tris's smile faded, she knew she'd missed the mark. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"No, not really." She murmured, "I just. I wasn't prepared for it. It wasn't what I wanted. I thought he liked me for me." She let the words carry out her anxieties, finding it easier to be vulnerable the more she said, but she couldn't bring herself to talk about the worst of it, the part that revived her fear. "Afterwards, he was just disappointed."

"In what?"

"Me. My body." Christina looked at her like she was insane. "My scars are pretty, extreme." She provided an excuse for him while pulling her sweater neck up and wrapping her arms protectively around herself.

"That rat bastard." Christina exclaimed. "He'd have to use a microscope to see them! You give him access, he's supposed to worship you until you dismiss him. That's the cardinal rule all men must follow." She declared while she pulled her into a hug, "Forget that asshole. He's not worth the time." She held Tris like she would hold her sister and took on the anger that Tris couldn't muster on her own.

"So, anyone new?" Tris tried to move the topic, wiped her eyes and peeled back away from the warm arms.

"A few, just-for-funs. But nothing serious." she sighed, "It's been busy, not a lot of time to date." She then smiled, "I missed my opportunity. If I'd been paying attention I would have made me a custom boyfriend right after the memory serum. But I was a little late, they all got conditioned without me in mind."

"That's awful." Tris chastised with a laugh. "I can't imagine you would have chosen just one. Oh! The drones lined up to service their queen. It would have been a new autocracy."

"You'd think we'd at least give them directions to pleasing a woman." She shook her head serious faced and laughing underneath.

"So, I heard Four's doing OK in Milwaukee." Christina said hopefully. In his letter, not too far back, he'd asked about jobs in Chicago. She felt obligated to do some fishing on his behalf.

"Where'd you hear that?"

Christina turned away to guard her tells. "He was in the paper, some story about all these workers stopping work until they get better conditions." She turned to watched Tris carefully and recognized remorse, regret. "What if he came back?"

"Have you and Amar been drinking the same Gin?" she shot back, overly forceful. "He's not coming back." She pulled out her favorite distraction, her research.

"Whoa. I take it he had some sage advice?"

"He's not coming back." Tris said again, starting to spread the sheets of paper out across the table. Christina thought better of pursuing further, although it didn't mean she wouldn't try after Tris was drugged up on pain killers.


	11. CH11: Back to the Bureau

**A/N: Comment / Favorite / Follow, if you're feeling chatty, PM. If you find a mistake, let me know, I like to clean up as best I can.**

The bus ride to the Bureau seemed longer than the trip to Milwaukee even though it was nearly six hours shorter since the roads were improved out a hundred miles over the winter by their own hands. They flew down the path until they met the crew, many waving as they rocked back and forth past. Keeping with his nature, Rafael continued to jabber about the things he was looking forward to almost exclusively food related: Cake, jam on toast, apples.

Four interjected the obvious: a hot shower, the tepid water of the camps long unwelcome. He wanted the soft cotton of a new shirt, jeans without holes in the patches of his knees, the silence of his own room. All of Rafael's reminiscing about the dishes and objects he recalled as being essential to the experiences that were beyond his reach made Four regret wiping his memories. At the same time, the rhythm to his excitement made it easy to let the jabbering fade into the background while he selfishly ran through his own list. Each mile passed adding an ounce of nervous anxiety into his already uncomfortable body. Sleep was impossible when each session resulted in a memory overload.

They unloaded in front of the Bureau front doors like scared cattle coming into the feed lot: one at a time to be processed by a guard at the front. The facility was teeming with bodies organized according to the check boxes on the incoming inspection, a total contrast from the fractured silence just after the wipe. Four eyed his paper – his short name, place and approximate date of birth, anticipated end location: undecided. It had taken him a second to process the question leading to the handwritten statement by other. He sighed in relief when his line shuffled through the doors and he got to stand for nearly a minute beneath the hot stream of air just at the threshold.

Nose down, eyes on a chart, Christina passed by chance. Four didn't even process how quickly or naturally he called her name, pulling her attention before grabbing her arm and wrapped her up in a hug so tight that it surprised him. It felt like pressing a piece of home into a void in a puzzle.

Unfortunately, it was before she could recognize him and even if she had, she'd second guess. He received a swift block to his side accompanied by a jab blocked by his arm. "Christina, it's me, Four." He coughed, protecting his bandaged hand.

"Four!" She exclaimed, gripping him as he doubled over. "You scared the crap out of me. I didn't recognize you. You look even worse in person. You didn't say you were coming." She bubbled enthusiastically, eyeing him over. "Jesus, you look fringe." She commented, putting a fingertip through a hole in his jacket and considering the patches in his jeans.

"Good to see you, too." He laughed, giving a controlled squeeze to her shoulder, recovering some composure over his impulses. Her hands went directly to the long beard and pulled, "Yeah, yeah." he rolled his eyes at her. She ruffled his hair that was splaying out in wisps down to his shoulders.

"I've seen fringe people that look better than you. I thought you said they had indoor plumbing at this camp." She put the back of her hand to his forehead, "You're burning up." then she noticed the bandage on his hand, protectively positioned behind his hip. "What did you do?" She asked.

"Just another reason to call me Four." He tried the joke for the first time, holding up his hand with a bit of a blush. He knew there would be attention and that made his skin crawl, but with her it was a little easier than he expected. It felt good to see someone familiar smiling back at him even if it was full of concern. "This place is more, alive, then last time I was here." he deflected.

"What did you do?" She didn't take the bait, grabbing his hand so she could look closer. "Oh my God! Where is your finger?"

"Up your ass if you don't stop squeezing." He warned, pulling his hand back. "Just an accident." Rafael cast him a questioning glance as he joined him. "This is Rafael." He introduced, "Christina."

"Why hello." Rafael wiggled his eyebrows a little, "Very nice to meet you."

"This guy found a barber." She deadpanned comparing the two.

"Yeah, yeah, he had lice." Four teased, Rafael subtly rolled his eyes, "So this place is busier than the ghost town I left."

"Yeah, there are a lot of back and forth right now. People going in to settle, people coming out to explore. It's been crazy to see all the travelers hubbing around." She took up his small ruck sack. "Come on, you need to get through the doctors before we let you into the general population." She snatched his paper, looking through the check list, "I'll have to have a word with the inspectors, fevers are supposed to get diverted." She recorded the name at the bottom.

"I couldn't get treatment out in Milwaukee, it's why I'm here." He felt like he had to explain, given her curious glances over her shoulder while she lead him through the hallways.

"When did it happen?" It didn't take a Candor to note the agitation in her tone.

"Two weeks ago." Then he regretted it.

"And you didn't write, you didn't call?" She punched him roughly and squarely in his chest, then stiffened. This boisterousness hadn't been part of their relationship and she obviously thought she crossed a line. But he just laughed when she rationalized. "Or I guess you couldn't write?"

"I didn't think it mattered. I mean, I lost a finger, that's why you get 10." He suggested, but she stayed stern.

Then she remembered, "When you wanted Cara's number? Was that what that was?"

"Yeah." He admitted. "I needed some advice. Not that it saved me this trip."

"Thought that was a dream." She mused.

"A frantic man calls you in the middle of the night and you think it's a dream?" He teased, testing the waters just a little.

"They usually knock on the door." She sassed back.

"Hey, guys." Rafael interrupted, watching a group of girls walking the other way, "As much as I'd like to make sure that finger gets professionally cleaned up, I think you've got this handled. So I'll catch up with you later." Four nodded as he departed like he's let loose on the hunt.

"So, Rafael? What's his story?" Four wondered if she didn't notice why he left in a hurry, then figured that she might not care.

"If you can find some records, I think he'd appreciate it." He paused, weighing the line between precaution and his assured embarrassment before continuing, "And if you do, um... use protection. Lice might not be the only thing he caught." He warned, turning a little pink.

"I'll keep it in mind." He could have sworn she also blushed a little, turning around to watch him down the hall. "But he's a good guy?"

"Yeah, seems to be. Works hard, doesn't complain, likes to be around people." He smiled, "He's been a good friend." Then smirked, seeing the smile on her face while she watched Rafael disappear around a corner, "You break his heart, I'll break your legs." He teased with a smile.

"Oh, that's how it is. You've known him a hot minute and you're on his team." She laughed back. It felt good to trade jokes and be light. "So, you hear to stay, or what?"

"I think Chicago, that was the plan. I guess I haven't really decided, yet." He admitted, "It's different up there. But it's different here too, right?"

"Yeah, tons different. I mean I only get second hand from Amar about Chicago, but it seems there making a lot of changes very quickly."

"Amar is really back in Chicago, like for good?"

"Seriously, you realize being friends with people requires effort right?" He shrugged, so she continued. "He and George went back to Dauntless, around the time Tris and Caleb left." He winced when she said her name, just enough for a Candor to see.

"Still? It's been months."

He rolled his eyes and changed the topic. "What are my options if I stay here or if I go to Chicago?"

"Well, there's a lot of stuff here mainly for working with Chicago and the leadership there to frame the future, set it all up. Obviously, you could work in the security or something. Amar said you were good with computers, equipment?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we could use your help around here. Most of the techies have gone into the labs in Chicago, or didn't retain it after the wipe. Not many people are left that can run a facility. I mean, that's what you use to do, the control room, right?"

"Yeah, I mean the Dauntless control room was all second hand from Erudite. Probably decades behind what they have here. What about Chicago?"

"Would you go back to Dauntless?"

He considered this for a second. "I don't know. I never really belonged there."

"Bullshit." She corrected. "Four fears? Amar says you're the best fighter he's ever seen, best shot, best trainer."

"Yeah, but I'm not that kid he knew anymore." He held up his hand, "Damaged goods now." He meant it in more ways than one.

"You could go to the former-factionless, that's what the factionless are calling themselves now."

"I could just go factionless, like I planned." He contemplated. "Not much of one for large groups."

"Friends take effort," She reminded. "Obviously more effort than you want to put in, it might be easier if you actually lived near a few of them."

"Yeah." He furrowed his brow together, then decided to say what was on his mind, "Where is everyone? Like where did Zeke and Shauna go?"

"Dauntless."

"Tris?" he asks cautiously.

"She's living with Caleb in a building near Erudite." She said softly, watching him closely. "She works for the government. I don't think that necessarily excludes her from any faction, but she isn't really in one either."

They're at the opening to the hospital, people in coats are milling around, travelers are waiting just inside. She peels off to the side so they can finish their conversation, her clipboard tucked under an arm. "So how'd it happen? Really?"

"An accident." He stated again, trying to hold his face as still as possible, "That's all."

"Mmhmm." She doesn't looked convinced. It's her turn to look hesitant and pause, making a decision to share, "Tris is here, too, right now. Pretty sure you didn't want an awkward, accidental encounter." He wasn't ready for that, he was content to think he could avoid her forever. "She's had another surgery, last week. She's going back on Friday. But, I'd avoid the Library, if you want to avoid her." She warned.

"She's still hurt?" he asked, that sense of concern replacing his pretend indifference.

"There's been quite a few surgeries, they have to pace them out, you know reconstruction and stuff. Can't fix Rome in a day. At least that's what she says, read it in some book. She just had a bullet fragment removed and they rebuilt her shoulder." she stuttered the start before finally asking, "Do you want to talk to her?"

"Does she ever mention me?" Her silence is the no he's dreading. Christina's face changes as she realizes he's not remotely alright with the situation.

"I don't know exactly what happened between you. But it's not just you. She's not who she used to be."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with her?" He muttered, folding her arms feeling defensive, full of resentment but also a little satisfied.

"The same thing that's wrong with all of us, too many memories." She casts her eyes down, "She's been pretty depressed, it's like all the fight's been beat out of her. But, she seems better this time, not like last surgery. But she's still very quiet, not handling the trauma well." Then she paused, "I mean, that's really why you're coming back, right? To check in on her?"

"Yeah, I cut off my finger so I'd have a good excuse." He stated dryly, "Honestly, I couldn't steal antibiotics in Milwaukee." She raised an eyebrow, "Seriously, that's all."

"Are you going to at least try to talk?"

"Wasn't planning on it." The idea brought up the familiar irritation of the last few months. "Do you think I should even bother?"

"Holding it in never helped anyone." She didn't even try to suppress the wisdom of her old faction.

"I'm not holding anything in." He lied, feeling more annoyed with each breath. "You tell her I'm back, you know, that I'm not trying to get in her way."

"Don't think like that."

"She's made her choice. I have to respect that."

"It's the wrong choice." Christina muttered.

"Life's full of wrong choices, but what's done is done." He had started using that statement to cope.

"She's usually in the library, reading, all afternoon. If I were you, I'd try to talk there, I don't think she'd like getting too upset in public. I'd also clean up, you're unrecognizable." She started to walk away.

"I'm not going talk to her." He called after her his eyes with a huff then felt embarrassed when he realized how infantile he sounded.

She looked like she would let it drop for a second, walking further away, then paused and turned back, "Four, she made her choice when she was the weakest I've ever seen her, the most messed up. She might be ready to make a different one, okay?" He just pursed his lips, not sure how to respond. "I have to get back to work, I'll find you later."

He walked into the clinic, ready to get the throbbing pain out of his body. The immediate assessment put him in a bed with an IV drip of antibiotics. A surgeon was called to assess if anything further should be done to address the amputation. Before the consult could come, his secondary reaction to the medication raised his fever and swelled his arm from the IV to his hand. An old man with graying beard looked at the mess wide-eyed, fatigued.

"You fringe folk are just a mess." He muttered. "If it's not syphilis it's mange, not mange it's mangled limbs." Four was writhing in discomfort as the skilled but inconsiderate hands squeezed and moved his metacarpals. "I need x-rays and switch the IV to Keflex; get a resident in here to drain it. If the infection doesn't kill him by tomorrow and his fever comes down below a hundred, I'll operate at three."

Four questioned, "Is that a joke?" he wasn't certain if it was dry humor.

"You have blood poisoning and an infection in your bone. The idea that you're alive right now is pretty surreal." He patted him on the shoulder, "Hope you make it." And left.

Outside of the pulsing pain that was running up his arm, which was already greatly diminished by the pain medication, he felt fine. He had to admit that he'd had a head ache and muscle aches for the last four days, but that wasn't unusual given his meager rations and hard labor. And the fever that set in the day of and never broke, maybe that should have been a sign. But he couldn't accept it. He felt fine.

A pimple-faced girl with beady eyes behind thick glasses and thin fingers cut into the side of his hand releasing a stream of putrid puss. The release of pressure was the nearest to ecstasy he could imagine in a hospital bed. He sighed in relief at the release of pressure. She gagged at the smell and he felt equally repulsed. His head took off down the swoosh of pain medication leaving his body behind for sleep to take over.

{}

He was barely awake and simply enjoying the numbness in his hand. The first relief he'd felt in the two weeks since he'd been attacked. He let his eyes alternate between open and closed and he was about to let them shut for another nap when Amar tapped lightly on the door. Three other patients shared his room, two were sleeping, the third stared off out the window. It felt a hundred more times private than the work camp.

"You thin-fuck of a stiff." He greeted with a broad smile, "Hear I should call you stumpy."

"Hey, Amar. Thought you were in Chicago." He pushed himself up in bed.

"I'm up getting some equipment, caught Christina in the hallway. You look like hell." he folded his arms in front of him. "I've seen people fatter in the fringe."

"Milwaukee's not the easiest of places."

"Maybe you just don't know how to take it easy?" He asks. Always making him question himself, always asking for him to think. At that moment, there wasn't a more annoying trait.

"What do you want?" He couldn't stop himself to make it sound nicer than he felt.

"Came to see what kept you from dinner. Find out you have blood poisoning." He picked up his chart, "And lice." he adds.

"I don't have lice." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think the nurse knows what lice looks like." Amar smiled. "How have you been?"

"You know, a little warning next time you're going to wipe my friends, okay?" It was his turn to look annoyed. "I've spent the first six weeks cleaning up after your mess. Trying to get everyone back to work and back to being productive." He sighed, "There were no less than four riots in the fringe and two attacks on the compound."

"Sorry, but you would have stopped us."

"Damn right." He spat, then his face softened, "I was skeptical about the results, but I'll admit, things overall seem to be going okay."

"How's George?"

"On the fence. I'm wondering if you'll take the couch in our apartment. Hate to see a friend out in cot-city."

"I've got a friend with me, met on the way up to Milwaukee. We're kind of in this together. "

Amar raised his eyebrow, "What's her name?"

"Rafael, and no, we're not together, not like that." He corrected, quickly. "He was wiped."

"Meet any nice girls up there?" Amar took a seat in the visitor's chair and put his feet up on the bed.

"Nothing worth talking about." He said quietly.

"Still ending dates with getting slapped, eh?" He didn't answer, "Alright, what's the game plan with Tris?"

"Steer clear of her." He huffed. "I've had enough of women for a while."

"She's not the same-"

"Yeah, yeah, poor Tris." He placated, the medication removing any notion of filtering, "Full of demons. Join the fucking club."

"She's not the same as when you left." He corrected. "I don't think she's proud of what she did to you."

He closed his eyes.

"Chicago's getting bigger every day, but it might not be big enough to avoid her forever." Amar sighed and stood, "When you getting back to Dauntless? We'll make you dinner, you can stay with us, might even have room for your friend."

"Yeah, if you can take both of us, I'm assuming my apartment's gone?"

"May not be, haven't checked. Not everyone came back, you know, but it was a pretty sweet apartment." he suggested sarcastically.

He settled in for another stint of drug-induced sleep that fluttered just on the line of consciousness. The bed felt strange, soft throughout without the poke of springs. The room was foreign, too warm and dry. It smelled of cleaning sprays, not mildew and the sound of three people sleeping was unsettling compared to dozens. He was mostly awake when they came to deliver him to the surgeon for a formal amputation of his complete digit.

The lights in the hospital never quite shut off, but between the doses and the rude disruptions from the nurses, he was not present enough in the world to notice how many days passed. There was a haziness to his concept of dreams as they blended into nightmares and melded into reality without interruption. This made him unbelieving when the reflection of the bulb looked like moonlight in her blue iris's. Eyes that took him back to a different night that was slightly windy and exciting. And she didn't seem real then or now. But unlike then, she lacked the self-assured look of determination. She didn't look powerful or strong. She was slight and hesitant. Her arm in a sling and her other hand in her pocket.

"Tobias." She smiled meekly. When his first thought was to touch her, his months of inner monologues crushed him. He knew that she didn't want him. He knew that he meant nothing. So he knew this was a lie, another lie coming from a liar. Least of all was the bile that came up his throat with the anger for the pulse in his hand that would not exist if it weren't for her.

"Leave." he whispered through his clenched jaws. "Get out!" he half shouted, quickly. She stepped back like receiving a punch to the stomach propelling her out the door.

It took him hours and a quick but thorough lecture from the morning nurse addressing his behavior as 'pissy' to finally let the tension seep out out so the the anger could subside.

"Hey charming." Christina smiled, "Hear you're developing a loyal following among the care-staff here." He felt ashamed for his behavior, "Seems they support an early release, begged the doctor and everything. I hear they even made him cookies." Now he felt guilty.

She wrestled a stack of clothes from his ruck sack, ignoring his groans at the lack of respect for his privacy. "You need soap to make it clean." she muttered, glancing at him while stacking each item on the edge of the bed. Then leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed. He paused, looked at her, waiting for her to leave.

"Oh no, I want the show." She insisted. "Strip, instructor, strip." He couldn't help but chuckle, she turned her back and whistled a song he didn't recognize. He carefully dressed with the gown on until he needed to replace it with a shirt, in case she did peak.

The beady eyed resident gave him the wound instructions with fresh supplies and antibiotics. Christina carried his bag for him down to the breakfast line. The smell of warm, cooked food was intense. He'd never wanted it more; he could have started a riot if he was denied. He filled his plate with sausage and eggs, proteins he hadn't seen in months.

"So, what's the damage?" She asked, as they sat down, "You're like half the man you use to be."

"It's not that bad." He didn't want to be the object of attention anymore, but he had some questions to get out of the way. "Tell me about the job front, how do I get situated when I get back into the city?"

"Still going in? I'd hoped I had convinced you to stay out here."

"I mean, I'll check on what Rafael wants to do, but we planned on going in." he explained, "You know, build it up."

"I hope you don't mind, but I was told if you ever came back to make a couple of phone calls." He started to get worried. "Johanna wants you to consider coming to work with her, she's one of the leaders of the city now."

"Yeah, who else is?" He wholly expected her to say his mother's name, but she didn't.

"Amita, Candor and Therese, you know, factionless." She quickly continued, "They actually seem to balance things out."

"And my mother?"

"Left, still gone. Haven't heard form her. Not that she'd contact me." She cleared her throat, "There's an office that collects mail and stuff for people that can't be found. You should check. Could be she's sent you a letter and they couldn't get it to you in Milwaukee."

"Yeah, I'll have to do that." He would like to know she was alive, reachable, maybe he'd check before he left.

"Hey, you should come by later on, I know you're all wounded and stuff, but do you think you can help me move a refrigerator? It's just a little more than I can manage."

"I can try." He nodded, finishing his food and finding his way to the blue room to catch up with Rafael and claim a cot.


	12. CH12: Confrontation

The Blue Room was a giant hall with blue doors and a lot of chatter. In the mid-morning flurry, there seemed to be more bodies than beds. People were corralled between shoulder-high partitions set up for privacy. Each block of four beds had a number indicating an assigned location. Candor families seemed to make up the majority, the rest a blend of blue and red. He pushed deeper, finding his place among four cots in the corner partition. He looked at the other three occupied beds and hoped he could delay meeting his temporary companions, the possibility of being recognized or knowing them pulling a fresh thread of anxiety through his lungs, one that he didn't fully understand.

He had to side step little girls being pursued by their father as he entered the men's room, causing him to double check the stick figure on the door. The man in the mirror staring back at him was wind burned and shaggy. He carried months of neglect written in the sharp depressions between his bones. He found a set of communally abused clippers with two nearly identical guards. He wasn't ready to remove who he was in Milwaukee, not ready to become the old Four or Tobias again and even less certain if either existed under the layers. Reluctantly, he trimmed just the edges of his beard only to clean up, to look like he tried.

Four stripped off his clothes, setting them in a neat pile on a bench by the wall. He didn't bother to cover his tattoo, not minding that others glanced and would assume him to be Dauntless, merely wrapped a towel around his waist. He tried to tie the plastic together one handed, to protect the bandage, nearly kicking the locker in frustration. An Amity man stepped up, cautious and offered to help with a murmur of "one refugee to another." The relief of removing months of cold and grime under the hot flow was more symbolic than actual given the thorough cleaning he'd received prior to surgery. The five minutes of spray could well have been an hour for how fresh it made him feel.

Four came out feeling relaxed and sleepy, the pills removing the harsh irritation he felt from the IV drugs. Then he was short tempered and caustic, now he just wanted to roll over and sleep. He wanted to postpone seeing, or avoid Tris all together. Maybe sleep for days until he could catch a bus out. But he was trained to face his fears, not run from them. He decided to pull it off like a band-aid, all at once hoping it would sting less. He asked for directions three times as he made his way to the Library. It reminded him of Erudite, the rows of floor to ceiling shelves of books and the musty smell of humidity affecting paper. Of course she would be here, filling her head with stories and ideas, feeding one aptitude when she couldn't meet the expectations of another. He'd never had much interest in books outside of manuals for equipment and he could feel the annoyance from school creep up into him as he passed people studying.

She sat in an oversize chair by the giant window. Beyond her was an empty, white plain that melded into the gray of the sky. The light reflected off her hair, dangling down to her shoulders held behind her ears by a clip. She was wearing a black sweater with a collar that rolled over itself acting like a pillow for her chin. She gently tapped her nose with her finger as she read. A book rested on her lap, her eyes jittered side to side and down absorbed in the story. He let his heart break, crack, radiate a pain across him while he counted each step between them to keep from thinking about how repulsive he'd felt each time he'd entered her room; he had to keep control.

He didn't know where to stand. So he settled for standing at the corner of the chair and clearing his throat because sound wouldn't come out otherwise. He braced himself for the look of evasion he'd memorized so many months ago.

"Yes?" She asked, looking up, looking confused and annoyed then questioning like she couldn't place his face. He assumed the narrow tattoos exposed by the loose, worn collar of his shirt gave him away, but in reality it was his eyes, soft, hesitant, thoughtfully patient.

"Hi, Tris." He smiled weakly, willing the emotions to stay in his chest but wanting to breath freely at the same time. He wasn't a big enough man to be able to do both.

"Tobias." she said his name with her breath and he couldn't help but smile a sideways grin. She shirked back a little, confirming that his outburst in his hospital room wasn't a dream, that he'd been the monster in real life.

"Tris." he said again hinting at the apology he couldn't get out.

"Tobias, what are you doing here?" She said her face staying quizzical, her voice cold and factual, not inviting like he'd hoped. The extra anxiety pill she'd taken to deal with a predictably unpleasant interaction with Matthew blocked her from feeling much more than curiosity.

He nodded, letting his disappointment spread across his face. A hundred rehearsals of exactly what he would say if he saw her again didn't help him get any of it out. He couldn't help the shortness in his voice, "I'm on my way back into Chicago. It's a big city, I'm sure I can stay out of your way." He couldn't help but add. "I just wanted you to know that I would be there, you know, so you could..." He didn't know what he thought she'd do differently, maybe avoid him, tell him off one last time, not freak out if they passed each other on the street.

"You're coming back?" She stated it only slightly like a question and with the faintest smile on her lips. Which didn't match with her previous tone, but he was already looking behind him for the quickest retreat to register the switch.

A pulse in his hand reminded him to keep it elevated and gave him the distraction he needed to reply. His voice unsteady "I am, but, like I said, it's a big city. I'll stay away, I promise. I just thought you should know." He turned to leave, not wanting to hear her response.

"Wait." She called after him, an urgent flutter breaking through the chemicals. "Tobias, wait." he froze in his exit and took a breath, not turning. "Will you stay and talk." she offered, pointing at the companion chair right next to her, the only option near by.

He did as she asked automatically, like taking orders. Maybe because he thought it was the right thing to do. He tucked his right hand up against his chest and held his elbow with the other, squeezing himself tight and hunched over a little. It felt better to be as small as possible, arguably presenting less of a target.

"Where have you been? How have you been?" She asked, pointing at his hand.

His obvious discomfort caught her off guard. He looked fragile. Sitting the way he was exaggerated his thin body and made his collarbone pop out in a way she'd only seen on the old and sick. His knobby knee bounced nervously and his face was set like he was prepared for a blow. She'd only ever seen him shrink away from Marcus like this, this was fear. He was afraid of her, or what she would say. Guilt would have racked her gut if the chemistry in her brain wasn't heavily altered.

"Milwaukee. Didn't Christina tell you?" He said plainly. He thought he could stick to the facts.

"You and Christina have kept up?" Her face fell and she looked disappointed, felt betrayed by Christina's omissions.

"Yeah, just letters." He didn't know why he felt like he had to clarify, but it slipped out his lips quickly, "She was just keeping tabs on me, nothing else."

"Things went pretty wrong." Her admission shocked his body into looking her square in the eyes. "With you and me." He held his breath, not certain he wanted to risk her explanation matching his own. But it didn't matter, she lost her nerve, "Is it nice there? In Milwaukee." She wanted to somehow make this easier, to make it okay. She wanted to just hear his voice in it's normal tone. He let his face droop away from her's resigning to the ambiguity.

"It's ok." he started to feel the creep of the monster inside of him, the side that could lash out, could hurt her, even kill her. His months of waiting spurred the questions that she could so easily answer, up to his lips; but if he said it out loud, he didn't know if he could hold in the rage that was building.

"And your hand?" She asked.

"Listen Tris." He snapped. Even though he wanted her to feel regret and remorse and punished for everything that she started, he needed to stop this, get away from her before she made him do something else he regretted. "What's done is done. I'm not here to play twenty questions or beg you back or some how be friends. I just needed you to know: we have to share a city. That's all." He stood up abruptly retracing the path around the chairs, tables and through the book shelf out the doors, ignoring the curious eyes that followed him out.

{}

Christina was again in the hall just outside of processing, leaning against the wall examining a clip board. She looked up to watch Four cross, obviously agitated and upset trudging from the direction of the library. She pursued, at a distance, until he curved into a quiet hallway and she found him squatted down head in his hands.

"That good?" She asked. Sitting next to him so that her shoulder touched his. He leaned into the wall and let his knees come up to his chest, so he could buried his face between them. Her warmth feeling odd but also nice like a heater. Christina closed her mouth and waited while he got his thoughts under control. When he finally lifted his head to take a deep breath, he let his legs relax so they were stretched out in front of him.

"What did she say?" Christina asked quietly.

He tried to think of the most honest answer that would pass her scrutiny but there wasn't really anything wrong with what Tris said. He was the one with the problem. "I shouldn't have come back." And then he added, "Maybe I should go to Indianapolis instead."

"She'll get over it, or she won't, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be here." Christina was surprisingly mad, catching him off guard. "I'm getting a little tired of everyone treading on eggshells." She declared, pushing herself up, "I'll talk to her."

"Don't bother." He sighed, but she was already on her feet and walking away. He didn't even care enough to go after her.

{}

He might have slept an hour or so, propped up in the hallway with the light traffic stopping to stare or ask if he was OK. He didn't have anywhere to be, didn't care enough to go find someplace more comfortable. Being alone in the hallways was a better alternative than being in the clatter of the blue room. Rafael tapped his foot, rousing him for dinner.

"So, your friend, Christina." he started, watching Four devour his chicken greedily.

"Rafael, I know you're my friend too, but if you hurt her, I will break your legs." He didn't feel much like messing around on the topic unlike the joke with Christina this threat was serious. There wasn't any reason to sugar coat it. "She's had a tough go with men, so if you're just looking to play make sure that's all she wants too."

"Oh, um, okay." he got quiet, obviously reflecting on the damage he knew Four was capable of inflicting. "So." He said, trying to change the topic. "What's the plan?"

"Bus leaves in three days for Chicago. I had a place in my old faction, might still be available, or we can stay with my friend Amar. I'll help you find work, figure out what you want to do. Figure out what I want to do."

"Yeah, sounds like there's some test I can take, tells me where I belong."

"That's one option." He took the bottle of pain medication out of his pocket, his stomach full enough. "There's also a group called the factionless. It's people that don't fit in factions."

"Like Milwaukee?" He wrinkled his nose.

"It's not as bad and it's getting better much faster in Chicago." He assured, "Besides, winter is hard, spring and summer won't freeze you to death."

He wasn't certain why he was so exhausted, suspecting a side effect of the pills. It wasn't like he'd done anything all day. Even with the sun hanging well above the horizon, he didn't care to delay sleep until dark. Rafael was already off with a group of people, finding something to do with his time. So he went back to the blue room by himself. He kicked his shoes off thinking about popping another pain pill but decided on moderation. Instead he leaned back and rolled onto his stomach, clutching the thin pillow over his face to try to let the hum of the crowd lull him to sleep.

"Hey, Four." Christina nudged him, and he groaned as he rolled over, just barely under the heavy wing of sleep. "Need your help with something heavy in my apartment, remember?"

"Really?" He sighed, sat up barely coordinated enough to pull his boots back on.

"Yeah, just need to pull the refrigerator out to fix the compressor. But I can't seem to get it to budge." She led the way back to her apartment, slightly in front of him. "Couldn't find Amar before he left, then I thought, awesome, Four is here." She smiled, "I'll even let you have a warm beer for your trouble."

"I'm supposed to pass on the alcohol. I'll just take your couch if that's OK." He followed her into a housing unit, the hallways all looked the same to him, door after door after door leading into apartments he imagined were identical. She pushed her door open, he figured they must not need locks in such a safe facility.

She ushered him inside quickly obstructing his exit. Amar was serving a cup of tea to Tris at the small kitchen table. "Oh good, you can lie." He smiled at Christina who rolled her eyes while assuming a ready stance in case he bolted.

"She's not the only one." Four was immediately on the fast track to blowing up, this was a trap orchestrated before he even got out of the hospital.

"What's this?" Tris asked, pushing herself away from the table, concerned.

"This," Amar grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him forward, "Is a man that's torn up to high-heaven over you." Four glared at him, the approach too stark, "Look at him, he's a mess." He emphasized with a tugged on his hair. "And you owe him an explanation. Whatever the hell it is that says you can't be with him, whatever reason you have no matter how stupid or how rational or how inexplicable, you have to tell him." He reminded her of the drive.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Four protested, starting to back away, but Amar's grip tightened and he was put at the table in a chair, a cup of tea in front of him, as if a hot drink could fix anything. Tris didn't make eye contact.

"No, it's not OK. This is not OK." Christina emphatically waved her arms, "You." She pointed at Tris, "You don't get to be a little shit all the time, treating everyone like they don't understand you. We get it, life is hard, it's been rough on all of us. And I'm willing to put up with it because I love you, but I will not stand by while you treat this guy like dirt." She and Amar both walked towards the door, "We have reversed this handle, you will be in here until we decide to let you out. Sort this shit out." The sat stunned, the lock clicked on the other side.

"Not my idea." Four said quickly, crossing his arms, ready to be mad and silent, which worked for ten minutes or so. The clock the only sound in the room. But it wasn't idle time in his head. Despite how slowly he breathed or how many times he counted down in the back of his mind, the questions were rotating back and forth between accusatory and deprecating until he snapped. The chair fell backwards when he launched himself to the door, trying the handle without success. He punched it loudly, before he turned to the cabinets.

"What are you doing?" She asked, wide-eyed and concerned.

"They didn't flip the deadbolt, just the handle." He explained, condescension thick, like she should have thought of it first, "I'm going to take the door off the hinges." He commented, pulling out boxes and cans of food before finally finding a small tool box tucked under the sink. He pawed through it, finally finding two screw drivers and a wrench, barely enough to make an attempt, but he was set on trying.

"Is it really that bad to talk to me?" He looked her over, her unaffected tone and her sullen but insipid expression threw their contrasting moods in his face. He was beyond angry and she was unaffected. He meant nothing to her, not anymore, maybe not ever.

"Listen, I'm too pissed with you for you to talk. So shut up." He pointed at her, but couldn't hold the anger as easily when he met her eyes. He turned back to the door.

"Isn't that how we got here?" She asked. "Not talking?"

"Fine, talk. If you can get it out before I have this door off, good for you." Gripping the screwdriver the best he could against the bandages, he tapped it with the wrench, driving the pin up and out.

"Tobias."

"Don't call me that." He stopped her.

"Four," It sounded foreign coming from her lips when her voice was sad and wanting, and discomforting enough for him to instantly regret the request. When he stood still, she committed to Amar's advice, "I took away your right to make a choice and thereby your right to be angry at my rationale. And I'm sorry that I did that to you." Her overly formal word choice spurred him into action, working at the pin, she continued, "I did something," She felt like a coward for not naming it, "and you would have left anyways. So I took that decision away from you, I made that decision for you."

"Tris, just shut up." adding in his head, "For your own safety." He didn't trust what he'd do next if the door didn't clear the latch.

"I'm trying to say that I want to give you that choice, at least let you be mad for the right reason."

He had the pin out of the bottom hinge, pulling it free then moving up to the middle hinge and started tapping away.

"I chose to go into that room with the death serum and the memory serum because there was a chance I would survive, and Caleb didn't have any chance. And then, I chose to die over coming back to you." She was thankful that the medication kept her tear ducts like summers kept deserts, or else she'd be incoherent. But her lack of emotion, the mater-of-fact delivery, did little to convince Four of her sincerity.

"Shut up!" he yelled, she flinched. She hadn't seen his face that red before or heard him breath so heavy, not even in Candor.

"I wanted to die, I chose to die. It hurt so bad." She nodded as he got the middle pin out. "And I didn't think you'd forgive that, so I didn't even give you the chance." She paused, "So, if you can forgive that, if you can forgive me giving up and being so awful to you when I woke up, let me know. But it's your decision this time."

He had the top pin out, dropping the tools so he could remove the barricade that kept him there. And he was down the hall without a word. Tris put her head down on the table.

{}

"Mind your own fucking business." Four pushed Amar, square in the chest when he ran into him on his way out of the residential side of the compound.

"Whoa." He defended himself by putting his hand out onto Four's chest and walking him backwards into the wall. Four's anger was quickly dissipating into confused emotion. "Did you at least talk? What did you do to the door?"

"She talked."

"Yeah, and?"

"She's a liar." he spat.

"You sure about that?" Amar challenged.

"Too little, too late." He huffed.

"That's your decision." Amar affirmed, "But did you at least talk?" And Four's down cast eyes answered his question. "Of course, you didn't." he pulled an old lecture straight from his memory, "You have to control your self. There are other people in the world besides you. And not all of them are as fluent in asshole as you are." Four took a deep breath, "Now, do I owe Christina a door?"

"This was your idea?" He accused, still a little hot.

"Yeah, I drove Tris out last week. We talked. She messed up, like any fucked up kid might. And, by the look of you..." He paused, "I kind of thought it was fortuitous that you found your way here at the same time."

Four took deep breaths, processing slowly now that the immediate threat of the skinny girl was out of his periphery and just the resulting aftershocks of abusive questions remained. Amar watched as the rage came out of him with each. "It makes me so angry to even think about her."

"Anger isn't a feeling, it's a reaction to feeling." He corrects, "It's a symptom. So how do you feel?"

"I don't know." He muttered.

"Disappointed?"

"Yeah." He agreed.

"Betrayed?"

"Yeah." He more emphatically nodded.

"Abandoned?" Four huffed, then leaned against the wall, defeated. "Well, how you feel is how you feel, but how you react, that's all up to you. But don't just stomp around being angry, be real about this or you're never going to move on." he patted his shoulder, "Come on, I'm in the blue room, too." He started to walk him back. "So the door?"

"I took it off the hinges."

"Good." He sighed in relief.

{}

Christina saw Amar taking Four down the hall. Four's body posture clearly pissed off, not to mention over an hour early. Panic drove her immediately the other way, back to Tris. She paused, evaluating the gaping entrance to her apartment, startled. Tris was alive but for more than a second Christina thought he might have hurt her. But the quiet breaths and sigh eliminated physical harm as an option.

She pulled the chair next to Tris, and started to rub her back. "Rome wasn't built in a day, right?"

"Yeah. But Nero did burn it all in one night."


	13. CH13: Return Trip

**A/N: Review, Favorite, Follow - as you'd like. Really appreciate the feedback I've had and thanks for reading. Apologies for the mortar chapter - it holds things together.**

A mixture of guilt and mild concern brought Amar to offer a ride out the next morning. Four found himself disgruntled and squished between him and Rafael in a small rusted truck. He had a quick and hushed exchange with Amar to share his displeasure and snapped at Rafael's incessant questions.

"Get a handle on it, soldier." Amar hissed, and it was enough for him to begrudgingly shut his mouth. In comparison to sharing a bus back with Tris, he supposed the constraining cabin was preferable. Four tipped his head down and closed his eyes collecting the will power to make it to the wide open space outside the Bureau. He was comforted when he finally opened them. With the windows, it wasn't horrible, but he knew he was irritated and tried to keep that in mind before talking.

Amar skipped right over Rafael's queries into Four's silent state instead having a playful back and forth about Rafael's uneven hair cut. It helped segue the conversation into Dauntless's reputation for meticulous preening then towards faction initiations, with a heavy dose of Amar's opinion. Dauntless daily life was a quick and simple set of comments: they still looped the city, provided protection, and rabble-roused around the city. Rafael was a bit more forthcoming about his reservations about being factionless, calling up specific hardships in Milwaukee. Which is where Four switched off his caustic inner monologue and clicked into their conversation.

"Do people hate your factionless?"

Amar shrugged with a small nod, "They don't have many friends right now."

"Like enough to rob them, murder them, burn them?" Amar chuckled, not sensing the sincerity in the concern, only stopping when he noted Rafael was staring back at him with pinched brow and Four was shifting to answer himself.

Amar comments unnerved. "What the Hell is going on in Milwaukee?"

"There's no protection for laborers, outside of ourselves. Even this guy couldn't get through the alleys-."

"Rafael, stop." Four cut him off, under his breath, Amar saw the stifling exchange play out silently on the bench next to him. Rafael shrinking back when faced with the hard gaze.

"So, Rafael, you sound like you've decided on joining a faction?" Amar asked, trying to move through the silence suspended on the stare.

"Yeah, I think so." He starts slowly, blinking and watching Four relax. "This Dauntless business sounds bad-ass. Conquering your fears, coming out the other side better."

"Not exactly how I'd describe the landscapes." Four mumbled. Dreading that as part of rejoining, he'd have to go through it again.

"I mean, I don't have many memories, so what's there to be afraid of?"

"Interesting perspective." Amar answered. "But there's always something, some phobia. Everyone has fears."

"What are you afraid of?" He asks, the inevitable curiosity leveled at both of them.

"Oh, just the most terrifying." Amar laughs, "Being buried alive, and being stranded, ants..." it was his turn to get lost in discomfort, going silent before admitting more personal qualms. Four knew Amar had at least ten, he'd seen two or three during drills and training, but like most, there were some he'd admit to and others he never mentioned.

"You, Four?" He stiffened at the question, he didn't have nearly the options for telling the softer fears, when you only have four, they all feel pungent and close.

"Oh, Four's not afraid of much. That's how he got his name, four fears." Amar explained.

"I thought your name was Four." He turned to him.

"It is." He said it to Amar, more of a declaration than a warning.

"No, it's a nickname." Amar corrected, patiently and with an eye roll as if to silently say, "Everyone knows anyways."

"What's your real name?" Four felt so uncomfortable. Tobais was who he became when he was with her, who he wasn't without her. And the last time he'd seen her, he stomped away like a child, like Four.

"Tobias." Amar says with a smirk. "See why he changed it?"

"Shut up, Amar." He couldn't catch it before it was out of his mouth, just the sort of thing Rafael loved to hold onto. "I prefer Four."

"So what are you afraid of, Tobias?" Rafael nudged him. He just cast a sideways glance and shrugged.

"Come on!" He jeered.

Amar winked at him, because of course he knew, but he also understood the hesitation. "Fears change as people get older, different experiences. It's probably anyone's guess what you'll have next time. Hell, you could be up to twenty with all the shit you've been through. Then what would we call you?" He grinned too broadly, pleased with himself, "Fucked." He announced the new name to yet another roll of Four's eyes.

"So, what happened before Milwaukee?" that excited quality normally so welcomed at gatherings was absolutely the last part of Rafael Four wanted in the compressed cabin as he struggled to pick a starting point.

"Well, there was a war, the Erudites attacked Abnegation, the faction that was running the government at the time, to try and throw them out. They used these serums to control Dauntless to do it." Rafael was sitting patiently, most of this he'd gathered from the news papers and Winston, "Tris stopped the mind control, Dauntless loyal sheltered with Candor, Dauntless traitors with Erudite. Then they attacked Candor and Four helped stop them. But they wanted a Diver– they wanted Four or Tris, really. Then Tris turned herself-"

"In the end, the factionless helped overturn Erudite's control but they wanted to destroy the factions and we were able to broker a deal right before the memory wipe that's brought us here today." Four interrupted, quickly. The triggers that were often his undoing in his nightmares too close in the narrative to risk in an enclosed space..

"But what happened to Tris? Who is Tris?" Rafael asked.

"Nothing happened." Four cut him off, that grating annoyance wishing for a few miles of silence. "Nothing." He directed it at Amar, who was obviously contemplating pushing him a little more down memory lane.

"Fine," Rafael was himself a little agitated. "I will find out." He promised. "What happened to the Dauntless traitors?"

"Memory wiped." Amar filled in. "Or executed."

"Why executed?" Four asked. With something as powerful as a memory serum, it seemed strange to kill some and not others.

"If they refused the truth serum, they were executed." Then under his breath, "Or so they say."

"You have your doubts?"

"It was a lot of bodies, then again, maybe death is preferable."

"I disagree." Rafael declared.

Four closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the window letting Amar do what he loved to do, talk, actively monitoring for a while. It took everything in him to disengage from the chatter and let his mind wander to his own concerns.

He wasn't certain he wanted to go through his landscape again. The idea scared him so much it could easily be in it. The worse case: nothing changed. If he still had to watch Tris die over and over and over, knowing it would be the only time he'd see her; he might as well find himself a cot in a warehouse. He wouldn't be welcome at Dauntless without at least saying he was going to try and rejoin, not for long. He just hoped he could get out of going through his landscape until he made up his mind, until he felt committed.

As Amar droned on about training and rigor, his thoughts wandered away to the ill informed passenger. He thought about Rafael: climbing up the pipe after him, helping him roll a body into the river, playfully hunting women in the back alley. He was brave. He was loyal. He was opportunistic. But he was also the last one to join a fight, never one to start it. He was reluctant to take on responsibility. And he hated to be alone. Dauntless was brutal, it asked a lot of each member, and it could be isolating both in the chaos and on the fence alike.

For three seconds he contemplated that Rafael wouldn't cut it in Dauntless, but then he had to remember how much he reminded him of Zeke. And this thought triggered a revelation that avalanched into nauseating dread. Zeke is still in Dauntless, without a brother, without a reason to want him there.

"Amar?" He interrupted, not meaning to sound as whiny as he did, "What about Zeke?" He was an awful friend. He'd only gotten the confirmation that he was still in Dauntless, nothing else. He didn't even ask how he was doing.

"Ah, what about him?" Four couldn't find the words, to describe the anxiety, "Oh, oh." He realized quickly the look of discomfort, "He'll be okay. It's hard for him, still, but I don't think he's holding a grudge or anything. At least not that he's mentioned."

"Who's Zeke?"

"He was a friend."

"Knock it off, stiff, he is your friend."

"What happened?" Rafael couldn't help the question. Maybe he'd do better in Candor.

"I, um, I was part of something that killed his brother." Four admitted, examining the stitches on his hand.

"Did you? Did you kill him?"

And Four assumed he was thinking about Rud given the gravity of the tone."Not like that." Amar cast him a sideways glance, but didn't pursue it. He was saving up these questions for another night, a long night, he expected.

"You didn't know, it was an accident." Amar corrected him.

"I'm beginning to think it's not lucky to know you." Rafael teased, trying to be playful, but it didn't feel like fun. "Lighten up, Four, you don't know until you know; so why spend so much time worrying?"

"I like this kid." Amar commented. The rest of the drive went back to Amar and Rafael discussing the different factions with many opinions clouding the objectivity of the descriptions. But Four didn't mind, it made Erudite sound like scum and that suited him. He only had to pipe in once or twice to guide the conversation away from specifics about him.

{}

Four and Rafael followed Amar from the loading dock to the entrance, a new lock with an RFID reader had been installed. Amar waved his wristband in front of it and they passed through. Four knew exactly where to go, stomping through the lower corridors before heading up to the pit. Heads turned and some calls went up to greet Amar, it was clear to Four that no one recognized him. He inhaled the familiar scent of dust and activity. Each inhalation lifted his spirits and brought a smile up onto his face. This felt like home.

This was where he'd had his first kiss and first bad date. Where Zeke had dared him to get his first tattoo. Where they'd fought and wrestled after work and too much beer. The dance parties he could only muster the confidence to attend after a night drinking. All the drinking: after initiations, holidays, weddings, funerals, births seemed like weeks ago not months. So many times he'd been with his small pack of friends, scrambling from one side to the other, jumping, climbing, plotting which Factionless camp they'd stink bomb or gathering people for paintball. Regardless of the memory his mind drifted to, there was always a smiling and carefree face tagging along in the corner of his mind. A face that would never smile again.

"Don't you people work?" Amar greeted Lauren who was watching a scuffle between two men. All the piercings in her ear were gone, just the holes remained and a chunk of cartledge missing. He had worried for her, she was among the missing during the war. He assumed she was dead, or a traitor.

"Damn it, fun's over!" Lauren lamented with a smile, shaking hands with him. "Who'd you drag back this time?" She asked, looking them over like she barely found them suitable.

Four was wearing worn blue jeans, his work boots with a white shirt under his layers of blood stained jackets. His appearance long and natural, unusual in Dauntless, opposite of Four. He couldn't blame her for not recognizing him. He looked factionless, or as some had said, he looked fringe; not that Lauren knew what that meant, not really.

"These weary travelers come from the exotic locale of Milwaukee. Rafael, Lauren." He introduced and they exchanged a hand shake, "Do I need to introduce Four? You remember that guy, right?" He said with a wink. Four held up his bandaged hand, unable to go through the awkward shake she was expecting from him.

"Four? No?" She asked, squinting her eyes dramatically, then pulling him into a hug. "For the love of God, you're a mess." Her touch on his shoulders felt familial and he felt at home in her presence.

"So they say." He was genuinely happy to see her. They had spent almost two years running drills together and most of that time she pretended they were dating so they could both get some peace from their friends. "How are you? Where were you?"

"Oh, I'm surviving." She shrugged with a smile, skipping his other inquiry. "Doing better now that this guy's whipping me into shape." She paused, "What did you do?" she pointed at his hand.

"Work accident." He offered, realizing he'd be doing this everyday for a while. Rafael looked at him curiously, and the glance he got back kept him quiet. "Just a missing finger." She grimaced and shivered empathetically.

"Well, Zeke'll be done in..," She turned back to the wrestling that was kicking up dust in the middle of people, "Probably less than a couple minutes." She wagered. "I'd bet he wouldn't mind seeing you." She said it with a neutral face, not happy or apprehensive, just frustratingly neutral.

"Oh good, he'll be tired." Amar quipped. And that told a fuller story in a heartbeat. Zeke may not be looking forward to sharing a faction.

"I thought you said he'd be alright." Four looked at him, nervously.

"The odds are probably closer to 50/50 than I made them seem." He stated just as a cheer went up at a concession and the onlookers started to dissipate. "Won't have to wait long to know." he turned him around and put his hands on his shoulders, bracing him out in front of him. Zeke was getting helped up off the ground, as was the other guy, so it was difficult to know who won.

He dusted himself off and caught sight of Lauren and Amar with the new people in the edge of the crowd, smiling broadly and walking over, face full of curiosity at the new people. He was working hard to catch his breath, heat radiated off of him, dirt sticking to his sweat. It must have been a long fight given how cold the pit was. He dabbed at his ear with his shirt collar, a little blood trickled down his neck.

"Amar, I'm always surprised when you come back." He smiled, then looked at Four, square in the eyes. When recognition crossed his face, Four looked away and prepared for a punch. "Look what the cat drug in." His face was expressionless while he processed. "You look like shit." He declared before colliding into him, his arms wrapping around him slowly and firmly, missing the usual hands slapping and vigor. A big, broad smile across his face his eyes sentimental and relieved, draining all the gut-stopping nerves out of Four.

Four held his arm out protectively, and then relaxed in relief. "That's what every keeps saying."

"What is up with the beard?" He laughed, holding him out for examination. "That is crazy. Shauna isn't going to recognize you."

"It was cold and I'm lazy."

"No you're not," Zeke rejected, "You're Four – super soldier, punisher of the lazy." He says in a mocking and dramatic tone.

"Rafael, this is Zeke." Four introduced, Zeke's arm still on his back, "Slightly less-super soldier." it felt good to be playful. "Did you win?" He asked, nodding to where the fight had just broken up and at the same time getting a little separation, but Zeke's hand stayed on his shoulder, like he might disappear.

"Oh, yeah. I did." he looked at him closer, finally letting his hand drop. "I bet I could beat you right now."

"I'm one handed." Four rolled his eyes.

"Been a while since the odds were on my side." He teased, then in a chastising tone, asked the inevitable question, "What did you do?"

"Work accident." Rafael commented for him.

"Rafael, it's great to have you here." he shook his hand. "Hey, it's lunch time, and you're in luck, they just started serving cake again." He took custody of them, eager to ask Four all about the outside. Amar disappeared back to unload supplies.

Four filled his plate with two of each protein they had to offer and a generous slice of chocolate cake. Rafael took more variety and followed them back to a near-empty table. Four removed his outer two layers, setting them under him. And then he regretted it. Zeke looked startled.

"You're not dying, right?" He shoveled a hamburger onto his tray.

"Nope. I'm fit as a fiddle." Four averted his eyes and put the patty back before he started to pick at his food.

"I can't believe how skinny you are." He looked like he'd smelt something bad, disgusting. "I can't let Shauna see you like this."

"Like what?"

"You all skinny. She's just finally got the ingredients to bake me cookies. You show up and she'll divert my supply. What the Hell happened to you?"

Rafael laughed, warming up to Zeke quickly, "First it was the flue, then it was the strike. The fool cut his rations, gave most of it to other people." Four's cheeks reddened.

"Strike?"

"Yeah, at the work site, we went on strike for weeks, months until Four and the other leaders got the city to meet our demands."

"So, not like a war-strike." Zeke confirmed.

"No." Four commented, "Like a 'we won't fix your road as fast' strike." He chuckled, "Not as much drama, lower stakes." Rafael found this to be a little insulting but thought better than to share his opinion.

Zeke evaluated the concept, "And that worked?"

"Yeah, eventually." Four shrugged. "I mean, we put them months behind schedule and time is money out there."

"And no one died?"

Four took a bite of food, avoiding an answer, thinking about the bodies he'd rolled into the river battered and beaten by one side or the other. He had to put his fork down and concentrate to keep himself from losing himself to a more vivid recall. Rafael just pushed his tray back and crossed his arms.

"So you built roads?" He wrinkled his nose. "Sounds boring."

"You still walking laps around the city?" Four retorted.

"Yeah, me, but you never did well with monotony."

"What did you do here?" Rafael asked.

"Computers." He stated, "Remember? I thought I told you that."

"Don't let him fool you. He ran the whole control room."

"Worked in.." Four tried to correct. Harrison had technically run the department, the control room.

"..and still did all the other facilities crap. And he ran drills and initiation."

"Drills?"

"Every six weeks, members have to run through refresher drills, physical training, you know, keep the skills up. He use to run them two weeks a month. The guy is a beast, doesn't know what 'quit' means."

"Yeah, that I know." Four cast Rafael another weary glance, "Dude, if there's something you don't want me saying, we should have talked about it before you brought me here."

"What?" Zeke asked.

"Nothing, just Milwaukee would be best left in Milwaukee." Four advised his friend. "So, my apartment? Still open?"

"Yeah, think so." Zeke nodded, making a mental note of where the application of his liquor could be useful in the future. "No guarantee that the kids haven't been using it, for whatever." he arched his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh great, it'll be full of bottles and condoms." He wasn't looking forward to cleaning up.

"Someone has to get action in that place." Zeke teased, somehow triggering the idea to ask in his most innocent tone, "Have you talked to Tris, yet?" It came out too casual for Four's recently ruffled feathers.

"Not really. Briefly." He huffed.

"Who's Tris?" Rafael demanded.

"The girl that started this mess." Zeke waved at his appearance. "Without her, he'd never have left and we'd all be mindless zombies."

Four cleared his throat, "Rafael is one of those mindless zombies, I'd be careful what you say. He can't be held responsible, after all." he sensed that the two of them could easily develop a friendship, each of them knowing a little too much about his two lives for him to trust them by themselves. He decided to have a conversation with each of them, some ground rules, or he's whole life story would be the gossip of the faction.

"So this girl? Was this a romantic thing? I thought Four might like the fellows."

Zeke chuckled, "You know, you're not the only one. But I can confirm, she has tits and everything." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Four stared at him, stone faced and trying to keep his hands on the table, "Careful, Zeke" His lowered tone setting his friend straight.

"Man, you think you know a guy." Rafael rolled his eyes, "You're all full of secrets."

"Secrets are Four's hobby." Zeke mused.

"Don't exaggerate." He dismissed, and tried to change the subject, stop the conversation between the two of them. "How is Shauna?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Zeke reprimanded, "She's doing alright. It's been hard, a big adjustment, had to move her apartment out of the north wing to the south."

"You haven't shacked up yet?"

"Not that she admits, likes to think of herself as being independent." He smiled coyly, proudly, "But I don't sleep in my place very often." He wore his grin like a merit badge, blushing a little.

"I'm glad things are working out." Four says, since there was a time just before the last initiation when he thought he might have to choose sides things were headed south so quickly.

"Yeah, she's working in the daycare now, since she can't patrol anymore. The kids really love her and it keeps the baby talk to a minimum."

"Whoa, babies?" Rafael put his hands up. "How old are you?"

Zeke flushed a little, it was a rare event, "She's a 'only live once' type of girl, now, anyways. I'm holding my own, though."

{}

Four led the way through the maze of hallways to his old apartment. The door had been jimmied, sloppily, the handle barely passed for attached. The thermostat was set low, cold. The hallow creek of the hinges screamed out more ghosts than feelings of home. But there is a familiarity about it that brought up a sensation, like he'd seen it only in photos, only in dreams and only then in the flesh. It's from a lifetime ago.

"Kids." Four sighed, taking in the predicted mess. "Oh bless'em." he smiled, finding a half full bottle of clear liquor. "We just might catch these assholes when they come back for this." He mused, taking a gulp, pills be damned, and passing it over to Rafael, "If we want to stay here. We'd better start cleaning." He found trash bags in the cabinet, untouched, and passed one to Rafael. "I'll get the sheets." he set about the unsavory task of removing the bedding and putting it in his washing machine.

"This looks like a lot of kids."

Four shrugged, "It'll be so, satisfying, if I can get my hands on them." He said, looking at the overflowing trashcan with used, discarded prophylactics.

"You're not serious about hurting kids, are you?" He has to ask, this more controlled and carefully crafted side of Four reminded him of who he first met, not who he just rode with on a bus.

"After this?" He asked, pointing at the basket, "Not hurting. Just scaring." He admitted, "I have a reputation. And I can't go all soft on the up and coming demons, or it'll be Hell to pay if I do initiation again."

"I picked up on that, super-soldier." He tossed a crumpled paper bag at him. "So, let me get my story straight, you lost that finger in an accident?"

"Look, you say 'work accident,' no one cares to hear the story. They just fill in the blanks themselves. If I say I lost it in a fight, they'll want the play by play, and I'm just not going to."

"What's up with the crazy hair and tattoos?"

"That's just fun." He smiled, "Why, you want some ink?"

"Like you, no." He recoiled, "Looks painful."

"It is." He stacked his already full bag by the door. "That's the point. If you can handle the pain, you'll know what freedom is."

"That makes no sense."

"Getting tattooed is incredibly painful, the most painful thing I've ever chosen to do. But it's a choice. And when it's done, it's like you can go through anything because it's temporary and it's probably not as bad, or as permanent, as what you did to your self."

"More painful than losing a finger?"

"In the moment? No. Right now with pain pills and alcohol, about even." He smirked, taking a drink. "But knowing it's temporary, that this will pass. Helps me move through it."

"You sure you fit in with these meat heads?" Rafael asked, using one of Amar's colorful terms for the faction.

"Ever heard the term Divergent?" He started, ready to discuss the background of the recent insurrection, but the jiggle of the handle stopped him. "Quick, back against the wall." He whispered, moving out of eye-line.

"Oh crap, looks like they're cleaning it up." A girl complained as she stepped in followed by a boy. They held hands and looked around, seeing Four just when he got to the door and shut it. "We didn't know anyone was living here." She defended. The boy put her behind him, which seemed to annoy her.

"Well, I was out of the city for a while." He stated, Rafael heard it as a low, steady tone similar to what he used in meetings. "And I come back to find some punk kids are squatting where they don't belong."

"We didn't mean anything by it."

"What's your names."

"Tara." She squeaked.

"Seth." He answered.

"Is this how you treat your parent's apartments?" He asked.

"And who are you? Some factionless slob? Are you even supposed to be here?" Seth asked, getting a little hot headed, typical bravado.

"My name's Four." He said quietly, and directly letting it sink in for a second. Seth's shoulders slumped and his head bent in aversion, "And I don't like what you've done here. I would like to see it cleaned up, tonight. In fact, right now works, since you obviously have time." They both nodded. "You have an hour, after that, I get your folks involved." Neither looked excited but when he snapped his fingers they both shuffled to start.

Four stepped out of the apartment, Rafael right behind him. And down the hallway, Four led him into the stairwell and up, letting out a solid laugh he'd been holding until the door closed. "Oh that kid almost wet himself." He pushed through the next floor, "Let's see what Lauren's up to."

He knocked on the center of the door, thinking better of using his key carefully tucked one of six in his pocket. It's different when people don't expect you; but back before everything went to shit, before Tris, he was here almost every night.

"Four, Rafael. I figured I'd see you tonight." He held up the jug. "Most honored guest, where did you get that?" She exclaimed, taking it from him and quickly pulling down mismatched glasses.

"Seth and Tera, or maybe one of the other little hooligans copulating like rabbits in my apartment." He noted her holsters and knives were still out on the table and hung them up by the door for her, old habit.

"Those two?" She crinkled her nose. "She can do better."

"Probably." He laughed, pulling out a chair for Rafael. "Lauren and I go about as far back as I can in this faction." He explained, "Rafael is considering taking the aptitude test."

"Oh, God, why bother?" she exclaimed, catching Four off guard, but also giving them a topic to argue about while the clock ticked down and the bottle diminished. They moved to the couch at one point, Four stretching out and closing his eyes for just a second. He woke up, finding Rafael and Lauren talking quietly back at the table. His hand ached for another dose of pills, but he wouldn't dare with what he drank.

"You sure it's alright if he stays here?"

"Yeah, he's done it tons of times." She assured.

"Good, I don't like waking him up when he's actually sleeping."

"What do you mean?"

"That guy has more nightmares than he has hours to fill." He shook his head, "Says some scary shit when he wakes up. I don't know what you all went through here, but I wouldn't have come if I thought I could get him to get help on his own."

Four wanted to interrupt them, but at the same time; he was just as curious about Rafael's motivations as he was protective of his past. Lauren was safe. She kept secrets, better than Zeke; he knew he could rely on her, so he kept his eyes shut.

"That hand was pretty infected, and he didn't have the money to go to the doctor. It just didn't make sense, it's not like he blew it on booze and girls like the rest of us. I think he got himself into some kind of trouble. But he wouldn't leave either. I think he'd be dead if he didn't get to a hospital."

"He's always been too full of pride to have any sense." Lauren scoffed. "What kind of trouble? What happened to his hand?"

"Work accident."

"At least you're both in on the lie, now." She leveled at him, with the tone Four knew could melt initiates. Rafael sighed, clearly uncomfortable.

"He got jumped by five guys. Couldn't out run them. But the guy that was with him when it started, said there was one guy in the group that seemed to know him, singled him out."

He couldn't contain himself, "Mistaken identity." He mumbled. "Wrong place at the wrong time."

"You keep telling yourself that." She mumbled. She knew he was lying.


	14. CH14: Forced to be Kind

**AN: Thanks for reading, reviewing and following. If you've made it this far, please consider dropping a note in that review field - Feedback is an excellent motivation. **

**24 Jan 2015 - To those that have reviewed asking for an update, that was pretty unexpected and awesome. The update is slow in coming, just is, maybe February. I put up psuedo progress notes on my Tumblr, and story snippets, see profile for link or search for inopinion. Also, looking for more people to bounce ideas off of, Hooda has been exceptionally helpful in allowing me to vet out some ideas.**

Four stopped at the medical center on his way out of Dauntless, getting his bandage changed on his hand, some healing serum, and his ankle wrapped. Janice had been a constant in his life. She checked his BMI and body fat percentage every round of drills and looked over each member or initiate that he'd brought here. When she caught sight of him her expression was maternal and scolding, scooting him into the room with a wave of his file.

"You're in trouble, Four." She tisked, while he stood, barefooted on the scale then pulled a measuring tape around his hips and chest. "Your BMI is too low. You've lost a lot of muscle mass. I have to declare you unfit." she chuckled, "First time for everything." She checked the box then pinched the back of his arm. "I can't even estimate your body fat." She shook her head, "You've been starving yourself. I'm going to recommend you get a diet, one-third protein, one-third-"

"Carbs, one-third fat." He finished her standard recommendation for her. "I'll consider it."

"And vegetables, the green things. They have vitamins. If you want to be cleared for drills, then you have to get back up to a BMI of at least 21; you have to put on twenty pounds."

"Yeah, I'll work on it." He smiled, "How about looking at my ankle. I have to jump a train today." He didn't trust it not to collapse under him.

"Oh, the trains, they stop now a days in the city. You just have to worry about at the facility." She removed his sock and looked at the dissipating purple bruise that went all the way down to his toes. "Kid, you got something fierce growing on these feet." She turned up her nose and reached for the anti-fungal spray before she applied a splint and let him put his boot back on. "And the other one?" She asked, spraying that foot as well. "Sucker?" She held out a bin, he rolled his eyes, but took one any ways. "It's good that you're back." She smiled, "I thought I lost you, too." Everyone had passed through her office: traitors, dead, and disappeared alike.

"Thanks Janice." He put on a thin smile to convey his compassion towards her, but hopefully not over expose the satisfaction he felt at her worrying over him. He was starting to feel guilty, glutenous over the number of individuals expressing a similar sentiment. He'd spent two years wriggling feeling of being out of place, only to find that he'd whittled a home out of his decision. It gave him doubts about going to Johanna for a job, like that was some how betraying their trust.

He stepped out, feeling better about jumping a train, although his boot was now bulkier and heavier with the splint. Rafael was waiting outside in the hallway, having struck up a conversation with the next member in line. He was going with him to the work office while he was meeting with Johanna about a position. Four was reluctant to rush him into Dauntless, unlike Amar and others. He wanted him to have the benefit of seeing all the factions, understanding the differences and the similarities for himself before making a decision.

"Okay, so, the train isn't going to stop." he felt the need to explain since he grew up knowing. He greeted a few confused looking acquaintances as he took his place among the waiting members, forgetting his appearance. "So, when I start running, you should, too. Aim for the second car." He commented, testing his splint by bouncing on his souls and kicking the gravel. The train could be heard coming from the direction of Amity.

"What? Seriously?" He watched, astounded at the shuffle in the crowd as they thinned out and put space between each other.

"Yeah, ready?" He asked, the train turning into view and he started to jog with the crowd progressing into a run to match the car. He easily kept pace, and used his left hand to pull himself up, popping the door lock carefully with his right thumb. He slid inside as easy as breathing. He turned to see Rafael's worried and concentrated face eyeing the handle. He reached, grabbed and pulled himself up unsteady.

"You all are crazy." he flopped against the wall at the other side like he'd been sucked in on an elastic line.

"Wait until you have to jump." He commented, waiting for the rest of the hurd to lean out against the cold wind for the pleasant numbness on his face and ears. The train broke, slowed, and stopped just down from the Merciless Mart.

"I thought you said we had to jump."

"On the way back." He warned, pulling him out of the throngs to give him directions to the work office in the lobby of Candor. "If you get turned around, just ask someone in white or grey." It seemed like the safest advice.

He stomped through the slush into the Government Center next door and up to the man at the front desk. It seemed out of place to him, all the people wearing solid blue or gray or white. Seeing the faction colors after months of being outside made it seem silly, the affiliations advertised through clothing. The look he got back in his mixed colors and work boots must have mirrored his own. They all eyed him as an obvious outsider.

"Hello, I'm here to see Johanna." He stated, clearly.

"Is she expecting you?"

"Yes and no."

"Who's asking?"

"Four, Tobias Eaton." He says both names, not certain which she might recall faster. The man's eyes widen a little in recognition. "I was told to stop in when I got back."

He stepped aside and placed a call then gave him instructions to the seventh floor.

Johanna's office had a low lying table with pillows around it, plants lined up and creeping across the windows that looked out over the open space in front of the building. A tea station to the side and the sound of birds and crickets playing over speakers probably made her feel closer to home. She must feel out of place without the nature of Amity farms. He's surprised to see her in cream clothes, not belonging to any faction. She smiles broadly when she sees him.

"Four." she greets, unphased by his appearance and putting her hands on his shoulders when she sees he can't shake. "I'm sorry to see you've been injured."

"It's okay, I'm getting over it. You asked to see me?"

"Ah yes, I'm very interested in your experiences in Milwaukee, outside the city. The outside isn't something we've learned much about, yet. But I did see you mentioned in some articles in a government newsletter."

"The strikes?"

"Yes, the strikes. I couldn't help but draw parallels between the workers and our former-factionless." She paused, "Please sit, would you like some tea?"

"Sure." he eyes her. "If it's just tea. It's not spiked?"

She set a cup down, "No serums, no additives, just leaves." She assures, he finds it awkward, sitting at the small table on the cushion that's over stuffed threatening his sense of balance. She sits easily and comfortably in front of him. "Now, this is a special blend, a gift from the outside, they call it Jasmine tea, I think it's quite nice." She sips it and he follows suit.

"So, what would you like to know?"He sniffed at it, before setting it aside to let it cool.

"I want to know if you'd like a job."

"What kind of job?" The prideful part of him thought she might ask him to join as part of the leadership.

"Liaison between the government and our laborers. Right now that's the former-factionless, but I think it's logical that the mix is more diverse in the future. Someone has to speak on their behalf, protect them from the greed that has overrun the factions in the past." He was disappointed, a little offended, and in swift succession, annoyed.

"Why me? Isn't Therese in the leadership now?"

"Therese is floundering. You have experience."

"I have my mother, you mean."

"It doesn't hurt that you're related, no." She smiled, not meaning to bring out that bitter tone in him. "Think of it as a tool. But I'm referring to your actual experience, it would be invaluable to them." She sips some more.

"I'm Dauntless."

"Are you going to stay?" She sounded surprised.

"I'm considering it. It's a simple way to live and simple sounds real good." Her face echoes his sentiment and he wonders if she wishes she were back on the farms instead of trapped in this glass box. "If Therese isn't working out, that's their problem." He crossed his arms.

"The war was real hard on Amity. We lost so many people in the last fight. We can't survive without the former-factionless." She couldn't hid her displeasure. "We need them to till the fields and pick the fruit. We need them to do it without causing problems. But I'm fair. I don't think they should be asked to slave away at our request, I want them to have what they need and be able to make a life out of it. A good, honest life. Isn't that what everyone deserves?"

She paused to sip before continuing, "I'll be candid. Therese is pushing for more and more power and representation. She's rubbing what's left of Candor and Erudite the wrong way. I don't think I can keep peace much longer in the board room let alone the streets. She's an abysmal leader. They keep changing their demands and there's a million different requests. Which means, we can't satisfy any of them. So when it comes down to it, they feel the oppression already. I need someone there that they'll listen to, someone that can get them to respond without violence and guns. Someone that can make them organize like a faction." She looked at him gravely, "We just don't have the numbers for more war."

"I need to think about it."

"Do you really?" She prodded.

"Fine, I'll do it. But only part time. If I can, Dauntless needs to stay an option. I want to fade into that when everything seems stable."

"Of course." She cooed, but she sounded patronizing, placating like she thought stability would never be within reach. "I think it might only require a few days a week. It would be best if you started by getting to know Therese's team and explain your role. Then I would work out the supplies, if I were you. They haven't exactly had a unified front on getting what they need. Should be able to handle that, right?" She winked.

He took her advice and her directions down to the basement level, of course they would put them in the basement, right next to the trash bins. He started the list of changes that needed to happen with that. Therese and a few others were milling around, not really doing much but arguing. He cleared his throat to announced his presence.

"This is a closed meeting." Therese commented, with a glare, they all fell silent.

"Hello Therese." He sighed, "I'm here to help."

They exchanged some heated back and forth that exhausted his patience as he proposed his role as adviser to their cause. He brought forward the strategies they used in Milwaukee and the effects they had on the bargaining process. And over the course of an hour they had finally stopped arguing and started discussing. By the time they had agreement on his assistance, he was mentally drained, quick to irritate.

"Now, I heard you have needs in the community and that too many people are asking for different things. Can we agree on a list and I'll take it to this 'request' office?" He walked them through the needs against what were obvious wants and the distribution network that they had organized. They talked about the unique needs of each safe house. In the end he had one list in his hands.

"Good luck, the girl at the desk is a real hard-ass, but she's cute. I think you could do well with her, she use to be Dauntless, so work some magic." A man name Ivan snickered perversely, Four rolled his eyes and started up the stairs to the lobby, telling himself that he needed to be training his body if he'd be stuck in offices all day, but really he needed the time and effort to expend the tension. The stairs topped out at the lobby, where he found Rafael loitering between him and the elevator bank.

"What's the story?" He asked.

"There's work out in this place called Amity farms? Something about greenhouses."

"Yeah, Amity. It's a faction. They grow all the food. I guess they're looking for help. Sounds like good work."

"How about you? All set?"

"I've got to go up and wrangle some supplies for the former-factionless, my new job." He sighed, still wondering exactly what he's gotten into.

"Can I come with? Getting bored being stared at."

"Sure."

The directions weren't the best between the elevator and where they needed to go. They joked as they passed the same office, again, making a decision to go right instead of left. Finally a sign on the wall read "Supplies Request Office" and Four was in the middle of laughing at a joke when he stepped through the doorway, paused, cursed and turned around.

"What?" Rafael asked, nearly losing his balance as he pushed past him.

"Ugh, not today." He groaned, "Can you give this to the girl in there?"

"Me?" He peaked his head around the corner, "Oh, I'd tap that." he exclaimed, trying to snatch the paper. Four pulled it back out of reach. Not willing to entertain the possibility of Rafael's sweet talk working.

"Not to hit on her."

"Hey, you pass, you pass."

"Fine." He took a breath, stepping through the doorway with all the restraint he could manage. Tris was sitting, looking amused at what conversation she could hear, until her face dropped with recognition.

"Four." she smiled meekly and with some hope in her eyes.

"Tris." he replied tersely, unfolding the paper list, "The former-factionless have a request to submit."

"Oh." She deflated, "Yeah, here's the form." she passed him a clip board, then looked at his hand. "I can transcribe it, if you need me to."

"I'm fine." He took the pen in his left hand and the clipboard in his right.

"You throw right." She recalled the knives.

"Yeah. I do." He stared down at the required information.

"So, you're joining the Former-Factionless?" She asked. He didn't want to hear her talk.

"No."

"But you're handling their forms?"

"Yes."

"How do I know it's really for them and not extras for Dauntless?" She asked.

"Between the two of us, I've lied the least. So I guess you'll just have to trust my record." He spat.

"That's unfair."

"Everything is unfair, isn't it Tris?" He ground his teeth, writing faster.

"Don't take that tone with me." she shot back.

"Then back off." His voice rose just slightly.

"You're being inappropriate." Her volume increased.

"Will you shut up? Just let me write." He was barking at her.

"I'm not your subordinate."

"No, lying bitches aren't allowed in Dauntless."

"What did you call me?"

"Just shut up. It's what you're good at."

She responded with a curt statement before they devolved into a swift back and forth about the lies she told, how controlling he'd been and how he never let her finish her sentence.

"Stop." Carl commanded, stepping between them. Rafael looked stunned in the doorway. Johanna had been passing on her way to a meeting, but was now behind him open mouthed and concerned.

"Office, now." Johanna pointed into Carl's space. Like punished children they huffed in and the door closed behind them. Rafael scrambled to grab the clipboard, eager to ensure a swift get-away, an added benefit being that he could easily hear while he transcribed.

"What is going on?" Johanna asked.

"She started it." he muttered, she bit her tongue starting to feel embarrassed.

"So I guess, this means you're not together anymore?" They both avoided her quizzical eyes, "Well it doesn't matter. You two have to work together." Johanna declared, "Obviously, there is a lack of respect between you." They didn't argue. "And respect is built on trust. You have to work together, figure out a way to work this out so that you're at least civil inside this building."

"Or what?" Four spat, regretting immediately when he saw her nostrils flare.

"Or I'll find someone else to fill both your positions and black list you to the factionless to fight this out in private."

He wasn't certain if she could follow through, but he knew he couldn't avoid her if they had to share a faction, even one as disorganized as the former-factionless, and at the moment he'd rashly give up a second finger to avoid her all together.

"What do we have to do?" Tris moped, more embarrassed than angry.

"In Amity, when there was a conflict, the members would have to do something nice for each other with each other. Like help him put together a punching bag and you help her alphabetize her books, or something. I don't care what you choose, but you have until the end of the week to figure it out." She took a deep breath, clearly upset at being upset and let it out with a drop of her shoulders. "If this was Amity, I'd fill you both with peace serum, but it's not. So you'll just have to work this out the old fashioned way. Understood?"

They both nodded and were ushered out like petulant children, neither looking at each other. Rafael was timidly completing the transcription, almost done as Four passed him by and stood in the hallway. He passed the clipboard back to Tris, who didn't even make eye contact.

"So, was that Tris?"

"Shut up." Four stalked down the hall into the elevator. He was silent all the way back to the faction and only spoke to warn when it's time to jump.

"What's the news from the city?" Amar asks, meeting them at the door to wave them in with his wrist band. Four glares at him and presses in without comment.

Rafael shakes his head in warning.

"What's he so pissed about?" Amar ignores the request.

"Tris has a mouth on her, but that guy. There were words I'd never say to a woman." He commented.

"Shut up, Rafael!" Four spits again, clearly hearing him as the conversation resonated down the hall.

And Amar cringes, knowingly, hanging back so they can get out of earshot. "So, ran into Tris?"

"Yeah, they had a big blow up and got caught by some lady, must be the boss, and she has sentenced them to 'do something nice.'" he emphasized with quotes.

"Scar across her face?" Rafael nodded, "Yeah, that would be the big boss, head of the government, right now. 'Do something nice?'" He snickered, "What kind of tree-hugging crap is that?"

"Something about doing something together for each other or they both lose their jobs. The door was thick, got hard to hear at times."

"So, she's making them spend time together?" Amar smirked, "That's great."

"I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. He's pretty upset."

"Yeah, but a little 'something nice' might be all they need to work this out and set things right." Amar clapped him on the back, "Let's get some food, let him go run himself to death, or whatever."

{}

Tris was sullen, not angry. She'd hoped more than once that Tobias would appear at her door, in her office, on the street and forgive her. The seconds between seeing him and hearing his tone were the most enjoyable in months. When it sunk in that he'd have to spend time with her, she felt her heart both float and boil at the same time. She'd get to see him. He'd have to be nice to her, or at least not awful. But he could also be silent, distant. She wasn't certain she could handle indifference any better than hate.

She cooked dinner that night, Caleb watching, worried, from the table. She was quiet. Nothing to report from her research which was unusual.

"Something happen today?" he asked.

"Tobias, Four." She sighed. "Showed up at work, had an argument." She stirred the soup, "Johanna is making us do something together."

"Oh. What kind of thing?"

"Something nice." She pouted.

"And how does that make you feel?" He asked, and it reminded her of when she saw the therapist.

"Conflicted. Anyway, I have to figure out something we can do together that benefits me. And he has to pick something for him. What should I do?"

"I don't know. You could ask him to stay out of your office." She laughed a little, and he was pleased he could make her smile. "You could make him paint your toes, like Christina does. That seems to make her like you." Another chuckle, he was on a roll.

"I don't know, I can't make him like me. But I can show him that I trust him." Then it occurred to her, "Tattoos." She nodded, "He's very philosophical about tattoos."

"Another tattoo?" Caleb curled his nose. "And you'll let Four do it?"

"I don't know, maybe. Maybe I'll just let him pick a design for me."

In Dauntless, Amar, Zeke, Rafael and Lauren were cheering Four up with a similar conversation and the remainder of the jug.

"You could make her wash your feet." Lauren snickered, always willing to side with him over some girl.

"Or clip your toe nails." Zeke added, inspired by Lauren.

"How about finish cleaning your apartment?" Amar offered.

"Had the kids do it." Four dismissed, dreading anything and everything they suggest.

"Cut you hair, please, let her cut your hair." Lauren begged, pulling in the bottle for a swig.

"That might work." Four shrugged. "I mean, I don't really care for it long. No one recognizes me and she can't mess it up if I give her clippers."

"With what you called her, you best guard your ears." Rafael cautions and Four laughs a little.

"What did he call her?" Zeke begs.

"Ah, there were a few real gems."

"Shut up, Rafael." Four says it nicer than before, but with a sharp edge. He wasn't proud of what came out of his mouth. The idea of admitting to his friends what he said was mortifying, but he didn't have control of Rafael this time.

"Um, "bitch," a couple times," they nodded Lauren giggling. Red faced, Four poured himself another drink, "I think "fuck face" once?" he groaned, "And there's one that I've never used, sounds like runt." Four hung his head as Lauren gasped with a chuckle.

"Where did a stiff like you even learn that one?" Zeke asked.

"No one said fuck-face." he declared, defensively.

"Why do they all call you Stiff?" Rafael asked, getting the jug instead.

{}

Tris met him out in front of the Merciless Mart, arranged by Amar who so gleefully assisted. Spring had been blown out of the city for the day by a frigid wind. His hand hurt and throbbed as he tested his first day without pain pills, althought he wished the bottle wasn't empty. It made him feel raw and distracted. He looked at her warily as she approached. He'd come prepared to be on his best behavior having spent all morning stating, "What doesn't kill me..." over and over.

"I'm sorry I called you some horrible names." He started, convinced that if they were going to avoid failure he needed to start off with a simple and easy concession. The rules of negotiation were very much at the forefront of his mind.

"Thank you for apologizing. I'm sorry I escalated the argument." She admitted. "So, you go first. What are we doing?"

"I've made arrangements for a haircut." She laughed a little, "Yeah, yeah. I'm not that creative, Lauren begged me."

"Throw in a shave and you have a deal." She smiled.

"I don't know if I trust you with a razor."

"Isn't that the point. Trusting each other?" He lead the way to the barber shop in Candor. She wanted so badly to take his arm, walk beside him, but she didn't dare to follow fewer than two steps behind.

He sat down, struggling to taking off his jacket over his hand. She carefully tugged on the sleeve, his face thankful, but guarded. It was obvious that a healthy diet was already taking effect, his collar bones not looking as pronounced. The observation pleased her. The barber showed her the tools, simple clippers with a guard. When she passed his hair behind his ear, it was frozen and cold. She couldn't help but cup it with her hand to warm it up, like a long off memory of his mother in his youth. He swallowed hard and focused on keeping his composure.

Her slender, warm fingers pulled his hair back away from his face. She smiled at him in the mirror, clipping a cape around his neck. She steadied her hand starting her first pass, dropping ribbons of locks onto his shoulders. He bit his lip as he saw Milwaukee fall away and Abnegation return. When she gently folded his ear over he laughed a little.

"What?" She asked.

"Rafael thought you might take my ear off." He admitted, "I sort of thought so too."

"I thought about it." She teased. "But it would mess with your impeccable symmetry."

"Yeah, my symmetrical head." He mused.

"It's one of your redeeming features."

"Nice to know I'm redeemable."

"Everyone has the capability of being better with time and patience." An Abnegation phrase.

He caught himself, not mad or upset, but enjoying the simple feeling of the vibration of the clippers, the warmth of her touch as she helped his hair to the floor and ran her finger tips over the stubble. The feeling crested before it gutted him almost to the point of cracking. "All done." She announced, her hand resting on his shoulder, "Now, this beard thing, you have going on."

"Give me a second." He asked, putting his hand on hers and running his finger tips over the back of her hand.

"Last goodbyes?" She teased, not wanting him to stop the motion.

"I don't know if I can handle you touching my face." He admitted. And her heart tore a little with the sadness in his expression. His hand dropping back into his lap under the curtain.

"Do you trust me?" She asked. He didn't move. "Do you trust me to do this for you?" She asked again. He did, so he nodded. "Okay. I'm going to use the clippers first. Then the razor, alright?" He nodded, eyes down both sad and apprehensive, like he was about to be punished. His chest moved faster, pulse elevated. She felt like she was inflicting damage on him as she clicked the button and felt the vibration in her hand.

She slid a shortest guard in place, the blades too hot to put directly on his skin. She started removing the growth down to less than an eighth of an inch, hoping it was short enough to avoid pulling when it came time for a razor. Each pass brought her Tobias back from the fringe to Chicago.

His hallow cheeks told the extent of the suffering he'd endured because she'd asked him to leave. The request came because she didn't deserve his faithfulness, and was executed out of his loyalty. She stopped the clippers, the absence of sound betraying her sniffle. He caught her wiping a tear from her face before she made it out the door. He decided it was close enough to call the job done.

He stood up, tipping the barber for the time while he pulled on his jacket and taking hers so he could pursue her on the street. He wished he'd thought to bring a hat.

She was standing just outside the door, facing into the wind, numbing herself. He offered her jacket. "Your turn." He smiled slightly, urging her to move them out of the wind.

She walked just a step in front of him, through the throngs of passing people to the train, stepping on one after the other. She was quiet, withdrawn, not certain what to say or do. He expected to see her stubborn and resolved, she looked defeated and worn instead.

"So what's the plan?" He asked, looking around at the other passengers, not use to the fact that every faction now used his preferred mode of transportation.

"Just a little freedom." She smiled, but kept her eyes trained down, "I thought it was time for a tattoo." She paused, "The only place is Dauntless. Amar, he made arrangements." Four was slightly annoyed that he didn't get the heads up.

"So, you want me to?" He begged her not to say 'tattoo me.' Not trusting his artistic capabilities.

"Pick a design, pick a place. You just have to stay between the lines." She assured.

"You want me to, alter your body."

"If you um, could, cover a scar." she asked, eyes examining her hands, "Something to make it look not so bad."

It struck him as an odd request, "Why? They're proof of how strong you are."

"How damaged." She stepped up to the door as the train glided to a stop two streets from Dauntless. "I hope you don't mind, I can't really jump, I'm still healing."

"No complaints, I understand." He held up the evidence clearly wrapped around his hand. But her statement about being damaged was sticking in his mind, recalling how Christina said she was different. And he could feel the change in moments like that, self doubt, giving up. He wanted to pick another fight just so he could see her fight back.

Amar opened the door, looking a little scared, sheepish as they approached. Four suspected he'd been watching the camera for them to arrive. The grainy frame probably not good enough to determine if everything was calm between them. Bud was with him, leaning against the wall, bored.

"Ready?" Bud asked, Amar uncharacteristically quiet as they passed. They followed him through the pit. More people taking notice, seeing Four cleaned up and Tris with him. They were a distinctive pair ever since Candor. But no one stopped them, taking note of the distance between them, the procession looking funerary, not something to disturb.

"So, um, here's five to choose from." Tris pulled out sheets of paper. All of them from Tori's portfolio courtesy of George. "Pick one, pick a place, fill it in." She asked, pulling her coat off. He took notice of her, really for the first time, now that he had to contemplate positioning one of these on her. She wore a burgundy sweater buttoned up to her collar, a black shirt peaking out around her waist. Her black slacks salt stained at the bottom, baggy and hiding the definition of her legs. She had a necklace with two rings, one bigger than the other, probably her parents' wedding rings. Then her face, eyes slightly swollen and red, a tear dried on her cheek from the wind. She was small, and fragile, and if he believed her, broken.

He looked at the drawings, the seven birds, a triangle with an eye in it, a constellation of stars, a dragonfly, and the erudite symbol.

The last one made him angry. He knew she couldn't deny that part of herself, but after what they did to her, to them, he couldn't think of putting it on her body. So he set it aside. The constellation meant nothing to him. The dragonfly felt too girly to stick to her skin. The triangle eye too close to Erudite's symbol for him to feel different about it. And he knew she was driving him to the birds. Wanting him to pick one, add one. Then he remembered the exit wound above her heart, it passed close to the birds.

He reached out, she flinched a little, but he smiled in reassurance. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of her sweater, seeing the line right through the bottom bird. He let his finger trace it. The callouses audibly resonating as they passed over her skin. It had healed so well it was barely visible outside of the white line in the dark green of the ink.

"Is this what you want?" He asked. "To fix your brother's bird?" She nodded. "All you had to do was ask." He turned to Bud, "So, how does this thing work?"

He had a quick tutorial. With the lines already in place, he filled in over the scar so that she could look at herself and feel complete. She didn't even flinch at the sting of the needle or the slide of his hand on her sternum.

Four silently walked with her out of the facility. Again, no one stopped them or asked or pried. They just let them walk past, two people side by side. When the cold air whipped around them, he pulled his jackets up and tight over his exposed neck. She left her jacket open, sweater unbuttoned, and her collarbone unguarded. She wore the permanent smile of someone stuck in a moment of joy. He couldn't help but smile with her. They stood at the stop closest to Dauntless, the train several minutes away. She shivered, but that stubborn look was back on her face, she wouldn't cover up.

He was afraid to touch her, to reach out, to see her pull away from him would rip his heart. But being brave was never easy. He bit his lips together, brow furrowed and hoped. He pulled her sleeve so she'd have to face him, and wrapped his arm around her, when her arms snaked under his jacket, he relaxed in relief putting his lips to her forehead to hold her close and familiar. She melted into him, her arms tucking up under his shirt onto his back, making him shiver. He held her the way she'd wanted to be held for months. She felt the pinch of his lips as they kissed her skin slowly and firmly and everything came dripping out of her with relief and without sobs. He let her head drop to his shoulder resting his chin against her temple.

"I'm still mad at you." He whispered, into her ear. She stiffened, "But I'm too tired to fight with you. You exhaust me." he laughed a couple breaths and she relaxed. "What am I going to do with you?" He sounded amused and exasperated then kissed her temple again.

The train wheels squeaked as the hulking mass came to rest. He let her go just before she was out of time. Then stood in the cold watching it pull away. Nothing had been decided, no one had won, and only a bird got fixed; but he felt calm thinking about her, the first time since Cara had approached him in the lobby.

He pounded on the door to Dauntless, Amar appearing at the other side.

"Can I get one of those, yet?" he pointed to the wrist bands.

"Depends, you coming back to Dauntless?" He nodded and Amar smiled broadly. "Step one, simulation." He warned.

Four had his reasons to come back, but now he had his reason to stay, "Better do it now before I lose my nerve."


End file.
